


Rapture

by Natterina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Former Tranquil Inquisitor, Leliana/Warden in later chapters, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tranquil Inquisitor, Volatile emotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 64,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natterina/pseuds/Natterina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 9:33 Dragon, eighteen year old Evelyn Trevelyan chooses Tranquility three days before her scheduled Harrowing, for reasons she never divulges to the Templars. </p><p>In 9:41 Dragon, when she falls out of the fade at Haven, the Sunburst Seal remains bright on her forehead and Thedas reels at the Tranquil Herald of Andraste.</p><p>But the woman who exits the fade at Adamant Fortress no longer bears that mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this has been done before; I know of stories where the Inquisitor has been forced into tranquility during the game's time frame, but never heard of her being tranquil beforehand so I thought why not explore that option! This one starts at Adamant, though I may create a tie-in series about the period from the Conclave to Adamant if this is popular enough.

They’re standing around the rift, bloody and aching from fighting the demons that have been escaping it over the last sixteen hours, when all hell breaks loose.

The Inquisitor, the tiny wisp of a woman forced into fighting because of the mark on her hand, emotionless and powerless because of the mark on her forehead, falls out of the rift with Alistair, and for a moment it _seems_ normal. But then Cullen notices Alistair is holding her arms tightly behind her back, restricting her movement.

Evelyn Trevelyan is _screeching_ , and Cullen takes a moment to realise that the hairs raising on the back of his neck are not a result of the utterly disturbing sound, but a result of incredibly hostile magic that he cannot place the source of. The Inquisitor is thrashing in Alistair’s arms, and that _unholy_ sound escaping her lips has stunned more than half of the soldiers and Grey Wardens present.

Cullen is too busy trying to understand why a tranquil would scream to really understand what is going on, too busy trying to find the source of the increasingly raising temperature and the burning stones beneath his feet.

The smite Cassandra delivers less than twenty seconds after the Inquisitor leaves the rift knocks her out cold.

Alistair grimaces.

“So, a Tranquil walks into the fade…”

* * *

Cullen didn’t notice it at first. When Cassandra and the prisoner had approached him at the entrance to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the prisoner had been covered in so much grime and blood that he couldn’t even tell her hair colour.

She’d had a placid smile on her face that he had found unsettling, and her response to his questions had been almost forced, but Cullen had chalked that all up to shock. She had the mark on her hand, a connection _to the fade_ , and so Cullen never had any reason to suspect she was anything other than just an oddly behaved prisoner.

When they meet formally in Haven’s chantry, however, it’s impossible to deny the truth. Evelyn Trevelyan walks in, shoulders low and her eyes cast to the floor, and Cullen inhales sharply at the red Sunburst Seal branded on her forehead. Cullen had never regretted the Rite of Tranquility more than he did in that moment, the moment they _all_ realised that their only hope of closing the breach lay in the hands of a woman who could not even feel pity for them. A woman whose only reason to close the breach was to survive, an instinct not even tranquility could overpower.

Their only hope was a woman physically incapable of recognising the desperation of their plight, the direness of their circumstances, in a way that would induce emotion in her.

* * *

“What do you mean, there’s no information on her?”

“Circles do not need to keep much information on tranquil mages, Cullen. You know this. They rarely do anything considered noteworthy enough to put _in_ a record. Everything I have only goes so far as nine thirty-three. I cannot even find information on why she became tranquil, though she has admitted to me that she willingly chose it.”

Leliana had put up with his questioning with her usual impassive expression, but even  _she_ looked unsettled at the total lack on information they had on their so-called Herald.

“What makes a young woman, a _noble_ young woman with an unprecedented amount of benefits at the Ostwick circle tower, willingly choose tranquility?” Even Cassandra looked utterly confused, looking down at Ostwick on the map with a frown on her face.

“We can only guess. From what I can tell, she was a powerful apprentice with an affinity for healing magic. There was never any perceived threat from her, and by all accounts there was never any doubts surrounding her Harrowing. Everyone expected her to pass, she was not even offered tranquility as an alternative. She actively sought it out.” Leliana motioned to her notes on Evelyn Trevelyan on the war table: they were barely five pages long.

Cullen ran his hand over his eyes in exasperation. Of _course_ she would have had an affinity for healing. The very thing they needed _most_ right now was a healer, and here was a woman supposedly gifted at healing yet sundered from the fade.

“What shall we tell the people? They are steadfast in their belief that she is the Herald of Andraste.” Josephine looked the most unsettled, and the most uncertain.

“Tell them the truth. We cannot pretend she is not a tranquil, and if we try to the truth would come out quickly, once she started to interact with others. The Grand Clerics will not be happy about this.”

“Then I shall make our few allies aware of the situation, and ensure they know she was not _forced_ into tranquility because of perceived danger, but chose it.” Josephine held her board tightly, her features schooled into an expression of calm.

“If we are to survive this, she will need to be trained to fight. We already have reports of rifts opening across Thedas and Orlais, but I don’t think my soldiers will react well to sparring with a tranquil. Cassandra, could you take care of that?” Cassandra nodded in acquiescence to Cullen’s request.

“Of course, Cullen.”

* * *

It was almost sad, in a way, how lonely their Herald appeared. Varric felt inexplicably sorry for the woman, who spent her days alone standing by her small hut with a small smile on her face and a staff she could not use slung over her back. It was even sadder, Varric thought, how Evelyn Trevelyan was not bothered over the fact that her companions did not wish to be near her.

Sera was too freaked out by her, and spent her time either avoiding the woman or drawing her into conversation in attempts to elicit an emotional response. The periods of avoidance usually came after the failed attempts unsettled Sera too much.

Blackwall was courteous around her, and had never been rude or inconsiderate around her, but the man _never_ sought out Evelyn of his own free will. Varric knew too well he was disconcerted around the poor woman.

Iron Bull was not _distant_ from the woman, but like Blackwall he did not seek her out. On the battlefield he would protect her, would head for whatever enemies appeared to be aiming towards their tranquil Herald, but he would not say a word to her.

Solas refused to go near her, not because he did not like her but because the very idea that she was sundered from the fade saddened and disgusted him, and merely looking at her would send him into dark contemplation over the ruthlessness of humans.

Vivienne treated her with utter indifference, speaking to Evelyn only when she needed to or when Evelyn could be useful to her. _That_ annoyed Varric, if he was completely honest.

Cassandra spent the most time with her, and as such was one of the kindest towards her. But even that was in the Seeker’s usual gruff and awkward manner, and was probably born out of the fact that Cassandra regularly beat the smaller woman onto her arse in the sparring ring.

No, only Varric and –to his surprise- Krem were kind towards her. The other man had passed her struggling with a box of research one morning: Evelyn had neither asked for help nor had any expression that indicated she was struggling, but Krem had picked up the crate for her nonetheless and had been surprised by its weight. Since then, he visited her daily to ask her if there was anything he could help her with. He later admitted to Varric upon being questioned that he did feel sorry for her, and that though she was difficult to converse with, he didn't think that was reason enough for people to outright avoid her.

Cullen’s reaction to her was also an odd one, Varric observed. Cullen didn’t look _unsettled_ per se, but he could not look at her without an expression of sadness and self-loathing flitting across his face. Varric had been confused, wondering if perhaps Cullen had met Evelyn before, until the realisation hit him like a sack of bricks. Of _course_ Curly would be sad looking at her: the woman served as a walking reminder of the fate he had allowed many _innocent_ mages to be subjected to under Meredith’s tyranny. He could not look at her without thinking of those under his charge that he had let down in misplaced anger and fear.

Yes, it was really rather sad to look at Evelyn Trevelyan, a pretty woman by human standards, and realise that she was perhaps the only person in Thedas who did not care that she was lonely.

She couldn’t even _feel_ lonely.

* * *

The reports that started to come in from the scouts were downright disturbing, especially when compared with Cassandra’s first-hand accounts.

They had begun to take Evelyn to the rifts in the Hinterlands, now that the area was relatively free of enemies and she could defend herself with the blade of her staff. Cassandra had thought it best to teach her to fight with a staff; it was light and easy to swing, which Evelyn’s non-muscled arms could use momentum to inflict damage with rather than strength. She was mentally unable to try the abilities of close-quartered fighting with daggers due to her tranquil-induced lack of cunning, and she was too physically weak to fight with a sword and shield.

The first time they had taken her to a rift, the proximity to the fade and the mark on her hand combined to create the most disturbing scene Cassandra had ever seen. Evelyn had closed the rift, and turned to Cassandra with a profound look of sadness on her face. Magic had crackled through the air like a whip, and Evelyn Trevelyan had grabbed Cassandra by the front of her armour and _begged_ her in tears to either kill her or reverse the tranquility.

A minute later, she had completely shut down again, and the utterly tranquil Evelyn had offhandedly wiped the tears from her face and remarked upon the success of the mission.

Cassandra had been unable to sleep for almost a week, haunted and disturbed in equal amounts by the _life_ she had briefly seen in Evelyn’s cold, empty eyes.

It kept happening. Every single time Evelyn Trevelyan closed a rift, _Evelyn_ gained a minute or less of conscious emotion and begged, or pleaded, or laughed and cried and sobbed at her situation before a calm mask descended on her face and she was exactly the same as before she encountered the rift. It was as though there was another woman trapped inside her, and the episodes were growing increasingly disturbing. Even Josephine had been reduced to sniffles when Cassandra recounted how the tranquil had cried for a whole minute on one occassion, heaving gasping sobs that sucked the air from around her.

An angry Sera had demanded they stop sending her out to close the rifts, but they had no choice but to send her out to do it. Cassandra felt for Sera: she was unable to deal with the fact that she cared about Evelyn, but Evelyn just did not _feel_ it, was unable to reciprocate her friendship. If Sera was more protective of her out in the field, well, it took a weight off Cassandra’s shoulders and eased her own worries.

Leliana stopped letting the advisors see the reports of Evelyn out in the field; it was becoming a tense and upsetting situation, and Cassandra was not sure how many more reports of the rifts being closed they could handle.

* * *

They’d had no choice but to choose to help the mages in Redcliffe. Though her fellow mages avoided her as though she had the plague, Evelyn herself was unable to channel the magic through her mark: the mages would be needed to help her close the breach.

One of the downsides to her being a tranquil, Cullen had realised, was her inability to be swayed from a decision by anything but logic. He could plead and argue logical arguments for her to go for the Templars until he was blue in the face, but if _she_ did not see the logic in it then she simply could not care.

When they returned from the frankly _terrifying_ events in Redcliffe, Dorian had become one of the people to regularly surround Evelyn. By his account, the Evelyn he had spent time in the future with was a little different to the Evelyn they knew. With the breach _everywhere_ , and the sheer amount of fade rifts in Redcliffe Castle, Evelyn had been more  _alive_. She had seemed odd, he admitted, a little emotionally stunted and occasionally placid, but she had  _existed_. Once they had returned, Dorian recalled that it was like a door slamming shut in her mind, and in a way it was. Dorian had grown fond of her, and unlike the others he actively sought her out. The fact that she sat there and made potions, listening to him whilst he talked and _talked_ , surely helped Dorian’s opinion of her, but Varric sensed there was something more to it. In a way not unlike Sera had initially been doing, Dorian was talking her ear off in hopes of a reaction, a small laugh to something he would say. Dorian was not wary of her, but sad. He was as much an outsider to Haven as she was, even if their reasons were completely different.

Varric was getting sick of all these sob stories.

* * *

 _Oh_ the Elder One had _not_ been happy to discover that the woman who held his mark did not even have an attachment to the fade.

Evelyn had been lucky to come out of that one alive.

* * *

“Will she be safe?”

“She does not have a choice; we have preliminary reports of a giant rift inside Adamant Fortress. The Inquisitor _must_ go in.”

It had been a controversial decision outside of the Inquisition to make the Herald their Inquisitor. But she had deserved it, she had put the effort in even if she did not have the feeling behind it. She had nothing to gain from being sent out on more missions, but it had made no sense to put anyone else in the position.

Orlais had not taken it well, if Cullen were entirely honest.

“Listen, she will be protected.” Cullen continued, eyes on Cassandra. “She will have you with her, as well as Iron Bull and Solas. Alistair should also be ready to help you if you stumble across him. Just get her to the rift, and stop Clarel.”

“Maker turn his gaze on us,” Cassandra started, looking uneasy as Cullen rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. “This would have been difficult enough if she were fully capable of defending herself, but this? These are highly trained Wardens.”

“You must try. We have _no other_ choice.”

* * *

“So, a Tranquil walks into the fade…”

Cullen breaks out of his stupor, pushing forward past Cassandra to take in the scene before him.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?”

“Well, if you let me finish, I can tell you. A Tranquil walks into the fade, and comes out emotionally stable and in control of her magic. Except she’s not stable, and I think she has no control over her magic. At all. In case the burning flagstones weren't obvious enough.” Alistair adjusts his hold on the unconscious Evelyn, before giving up completely and looking to Cullen for help.

He warily picks up her dead weight in his arms, staring in horror at her blank and smooth forehead.

“A spirit of Faith, Commander.” Cassandra stands next to him and brushes Evelyn’s hair from her face to clearly expose her forehead. The action is soft, almost fond. “We met a spirit who resembled Divine Justinia in the fade. Evelyn had already seemed more _human_ in there, but Jus- the spirit touched her, held its hand to her forehead. Solas and I believe it was a spirit of Faith. We have no idea how long until she returns to her tranquil state, however.”

“I believe she never will. We have a dangerous situation on our hands.” Solas interrupts, casting a spell over Evelyn to ensure she will not awaken until they are back at Griffon Wing Keep and he can deal with it. “This is a woman who has been tranquil since she was eighteen years old. Nearly a decade of tranquility will have left its mark on her. She did not take her harrowing, yes? She will be vulnerable to demonic possession, as well as uncontrollable magic. And that is if her newly-received emotions will not send her insane first.” Solas looks disgusted as he speaks, but Cullen knows it is because Evelyn was ever subjected to Tranquility in the first place.

Cullen orders Cassandra to deal with the Wardens: the Inquisitor clearly cannot deal with them herself, and he quickly leaves Adamant Fortress with Solas and her limp body. Solas is pondering aloud beside him, and Cullen quickly understands the gravity of the situation.

The Evelyn who will awaken at Skyhold will either have the personality of pre-Tranquil Evelyn, or will be weighed down with the struggle to find herself in the midst of the mess around them. She will struggle, she will hurt, and she will be forced to develop her personality and deal with emotions she has not felt in nearly a decade. She will have to learn to control her magic (and Cullen is no longer certain her abilities lie in healing after the boiling stone floor in Adamant), learn more spells and fighting _properly_ with a staff. All in the middle of the mess Corypheus has dumped them into.

All this is reflected on his face, he knows, when he enters the main camp still carrying Evelyn in his arms, and Sera lets out an audible gasp. Varric stares as he ducks into a tent and gently lays her down onto a bedroll. Sera and Varric have followed him in, and they both take one look at Evelyn’s _blank, how could it be blank,_ forehead before turning to each other with identical looks on their faces.

“Friggin’ shiteballs.”

“Well, _shit_.”


	2. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is out pretty early because I have a question for you all. Would you prefer for me to post the chapters as they are written, at different interval periods depending on how soon I finish them, or on a set day every week or two? 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think of how I'm having Evelyn develop! :)

“Are you _out_ of your _mind_? We cannot put the Inquisitor in _shackles_!” Josephine’s pretence of a diplomatic smile was long gone, instead replaced with a look of utter incredulousness and shock.

They’d been arguing this for nearly an hour.

“They’re not _shackles_ , Josephine, they’re mana-inhibitors. It’s the only way to ensure she doesn’t lose control and blow us off the face of Thedas.” Cullen snapped back, his patience wearing thin as he pressed his point.

“Do you have any idea how that’s going to look to the Orlesian court? Let us send our Inquisitor to the Winter Palace ball, but make sure you do not look up the arms of her dress because she’s _shackled_.” Cullen was aware it was probably a very dangerous thing if Josephine had resorted to sarcasm, but he was not backing down.

“Yes, because her turning into a demon halfway through a dance is going to make a much better impression, isn’t it? This is the only way to keep her safe. The ball is a while off, and she needs to learn control lest she lose it altogether. Her mind is all but flayed open: she is practically a feast for a demon.” His voice was dry, eyebrows furrowed in pure annoyance as he looked at the metal wristbands on the table before them.

“Possession could happen even with the mana-inhibitors, Commander. To my knowledge, it only stops her accessing her mana pool, not accessing the fade. We’re not certain that wouldn’t make her _more_ vulnerable to possession without her magic to protect her.” Leliana cut in, firmly on Josephine’s side, her voice cold as ice and her eyes narrowed. Cullen sighed; it was him and Cassandra versus Josephine and Leliana, and no one was winning.

“Okay, say she goes to the Winter Palace without the _mana-inhibitors_ on, and someone messes with her emotions enough to set her off, do you think the Empress will take it well when she burns down the palace?”

“Her files mention that her specialisation was going to be healing magic, there’s no evidence her abilities lie in elemental magic.” Leliana’s words were gentle, spoken with no anger behind them, but Cullen could see her eyes flashing in disapproval at the bands.

“No evidence? I think the scorched flagstones in Adamant are plenty evidence that she has _some_ powerful fire ability, thank you.” His irritation was bleeding through his gritted teeth.

“Could we put her through her Harrowing now?” Cassandra chipped in, voice steady. Josephine looked even more alarmed.

“By all means, and if she fails because she is emotionally compromised, _you_ can tell Thedas that we led our Inquisitor to her death by purposefully _luring a demon_ to her.”

“She doesn’t need to be put through a Harrowing. Solas has never had to go through one, and he is likely to be the most immune out of all of us.” Cullen bristled at Leliana’s words.

“Solas could train her to control her magic, and perhaps Cole could try to help her with her emotions?” Josephine was calming down, returning to her ambassador mask that gave her a neutral yet inquisitive expression.

“That could work, but we need a way for her magic to be gradually released, not let loose all at once. _Hence_ the mana-inhibitors.” Cullen was adamant they would be worn. Josephine was less so.

“The Inquisitor is _not_ going to a ball wearing shackles like a common prisoner!”

“The three of you are missing the most obvious solution.” Cassandra’s words drew their attention to her: she stood by the table cradling her helm under one arm, the other hand resting on the table and fiddling with the mana cuffs. Cullen raised a brow.

“What do you suggest, Seeker?”

“We cannot let the Inquisitor go to the Winter Palace without mana-inhibitors.” Cassandra stated, but held her free hand up to silence Josephine when she opened her mouth to protest. “Conversely, we cannot let her go wearing _those_.” Cassandra pointed to the heavy metal shackles. “Those were created for the purpose of subduing _escaped_ mages, prisoners of the templars. So make new ones.”

Leliana nodded in agreement, looking for all the world as though she were waiting for someone to make that suggestion. “Dagna. Of course. She should be able to make new ones, ones that look like simple jewellery.”

“Make sure they actually _function_ , would you?” Cullen’s tone was biting; his headache was pounding, and their argument had only made it worse.

“Of course, Commander. Josephine and I will go speak to her now, and ensure she makes two innocuous bracelets capable of the same function as those.” Her eyes flickered down to the metal mana-inhibitors on the table with a look of distaste.

“Thank you.” Cullen nodded stiffly at Leliana, the pain in his head so unbearable that he was beginning to squint.

Just when Cullen was about to excuse himself from the war room, Solas strode in without even knocking.

“She is awake.”

* * *

The scene is bizarre. Evelyn Trevelyan, their once stoic and emotionless Inquisitor, was sits on the bed in her quarters experiencing every emotion possible on the spectrum. She had woken up screaming and in pain, her magic crackling in the air and setting the braziers in her room ablaze with the power. It was like gas waiting to be lit and, despite Leliana’s initial protest, they quickly put the heavy mana-inhibitors onto her wrists.

It will have to do until Dagna could make a new pair.

Josephine and Cassandra had chosen not to enter the Inquisitor’s quarters; that left Leliana, Cullen, Solas and Varric in the room. When Cullen raises a brow at Varric, the dwarf shrugs.

“I seem to calm her down somewhat. Probably because I’m one of the few who treat her as a human when she was still Tranquil.” The disappointment behind the words makes Cullen flush with embarrassment, and even Solas looks a little ashamed.

Evelyn lies on the bed watching them, her head clutched in her hands with her fingers digging into her hair. The normally neat bun on the top of her head, practical for a tranquil, is all but pulled out of its tight circle, her hair frizzed and kinked in all directions as she pulls at it in the torrent of her emotions.

“What is she doing?” Cullen asks Solas quietly, a confused look on his face. Solas gives him a pointed look.

“This is a woman who has not dealt with her emotions in nearly a decade. Do not tell me you expect her to be _fine_ when they all come back at once.”

Cullen looks away from Solas feeling rather like a scolded child, eyes instead searching Evelyn Trevelyan with pity and curiosity. Her cheeks are flushed red, stained with old tear tracks and red marks from where she had scratched her short nails down them before they had entered. Her eyes are swollen, rimmed-red and looking sore, and her lips are bleeding and chapped from where she has picked at them and chewed at them in nervous succession.

They sit with her for half of the morning, trying to calm her down enough for her to bring herself under control. She is like a caged animal, eyes darting between them to around the room, twitching at every creaking floorboard and whistle of wind. It is only when Solas, stressed and terse, suggests that she try to act as she had when she was tranquil that Evelyn calms down enough to speak.

Cullen knows _that_  solution cannot last; he can think of nothing worse than her _supressing_ everything to keep a calm exterior.

“How do you feel?”

Varric rolls his eyes as Leliana poses the question, the answer obvious even in Evelyn's silence. Evelyn looks up at them, her fingers still gripping chunks of her hair.

“Like a blind man receiving eyes, a dehydrated man in a desert finding a pool of water. Like my chest aches with an overload of emotion. I feel relieved, _free_.”

Her voice is unsettling, full of emotion where once it had been empty, and it cracks on that final word as she sucks in a gasp of air. Cullen thinks back to the days before Adamant, when she spoke in a monotone with no inflections in her words, no emphasis or emotion behind her tone. She had been a woman who did not care, whose voice sounded like physical apathy. She had sounded less than human, and they had all begun to treat her so.

That woman seemed a lifetime ago, a different person altogether. The woman holding herself tightly on the bed before them could not be that same woman, when her voice was full of pain and relief and happiness, with a demeanour that was peaceful and highly strung, volatile but grateful. An injured Evelyn Trevelyan had looked like a corpse, all ratty blonde hair and pale skin, dead eyes staring up at the roof of the tent. This woman is different, cheeks flushed despite it all, knuckles white from the force of a grip around her knees, eyes wild but  _present_.

It is jarring, and makes it all too clear to Cullen the challenge they have ahead of them.

“Inquisitor, our reports say that you willingly chose Tranquility. Could you tell me why?” Varric's head snaps up to look at Leliana, and his face does not look pleased. Even Cullen has to admit that now might not be the best time to start asking those kind of questions.

But Evelyn looks up to Leliana, a haunted look in her eyes that nearly makes Cullen _and_ Varric take a step back. To Cullen's horror, tears well up in her eyes and spill over, down her flushed cheeks. She looks miserable, the long-forgotten emotions tearing her heart asunder as her calm facade crumbles.

“Perhaps you should have waited to ask that.” Cullen interjects, feeling pity for Evelyn but still unable to wrap his head around the concept that she is _normal_ , full of feeling and power where once she had been uncaring and mechanical.

“No. I- I will tell you, but not now. I do not… I do not think I could handle divulging the truth right now. And if you are wondering why I did not tell you the truth when I was… _tranquil_ …” She whispers the word in awe, as though she cannot believe she has recovered from her previous state. She glances back to Leliana, resolute. “The events at the conclave were not the only memories that the Nightmare returned. I removed my own memories of the events myself before I chose Tranquility.”

 _That_ gives Cullen pause; what in the name of Thedas had she done that was so terrible she wiped her own memory before willingly submitting to the brand? He cannot ask, however, because Evelyn lowers her head to rest it in her folded arms, and begins to sob again.

“I do not know… why I cannot control this.” She is confused and broken, whole yet scarred, in the way a broken vase can be glued back together again but keeps the tiny cracks right through it. Her emotions leak through those cracks, her magic pounding against the weaker walls as it comes back to life, her connection to the fade a shattered glass taped together. It is frightening, but Cullen harshly reminds himself that they should consider themselves lucky. 

And then he feels a pang of sadness. She had been a lonely woman, even if she had not felt it at the time, and the bonds she could have forged with her fellow companions had not appeared at all. Though Cullen has no doubts that her inner circle will step up to the mark now that she needs them, he knows that  _Evelyn_ will know it is because she longer scares them or makes them uncomfortable. And that, he thinks, may make her even lonelier in the end. The shame passes over him like a wave. He had thought Varric and Dorian's efforts to spend time with her to be fruitless and pointless, for what Tranquil needed a friend? He would not blame her if she were to spurn them all.

“I want this to stop.” Her voice is weak as it pulls him from his thoughts, and Leliana looks at her with the same mixture of pity and shame that Cullen feels. “I do not want to feel this much. But I do. I can _feel_.”

Evelyn is swinging from one emotion to another, from devastation and hurt to a happy awe. They are brewing their own recipe for an explosion, with her so unhinged, and Cullen hopes she recovers rather than goes completely insane.

“Inquisitor, you must calm yourself. These mood swings should stabilise in a week or two, but you must reign in your emotions before we can remove the mana-inhibiting bands. Once we can do that safely, I will begin to train you in controlling your magic once more.” Solas moves closer and channels healing magic into her as he speaks, a soothing green stream of magic that will no doubt work on calming her heart rate and reducing her temperature. She gives a watery smile at the sight.

“I used to heal. I was very good at it. I do not think I could be trusted to heal again, though.”

“On the contrary Inquisitor, you could. The magic you were pulling forward when we returned from the fade was connected to your emotions. You felt the extreme negatives, and you pulled forth fire without intending to. I feel that if you can calm your emotions, and intentionally channel healing magic, you should be able to heal others quickly, if not at the cost of a lot of your energy.”

Solas removes his hand from Evelyn’s shoulder, the green glow disappearing as he takes a step back.

“I should like that. I do not want to wear these forever.” She indicates the cuffs on her wrists, heavy and cold and huge in comparison to her tiny wrists. She is waifish, a direct result of her tranquil lifestyle. She has no muscle mass, for though she fought on the field she would not have done so with passion or intent, and Cullen has a feeling that her physical fitness will be little better than a barmaid's. How much will she change, physically, if she becomes just like any other mage fighter?

Varric, on the other hand, watches her with a curious look, noticing her style of speech. She still speaks strangely, like a tranquil, enunciating each word clearly (when not  _sobbing_ ) and with little use of contractions. He wonders if this will change, if the Evelyn she had once been had spoken differently. They might as well have returned from Adamant with a different Inquisitor altogether.

Leliana, who has been silent ever since her question was refused, watches the exchange with a look in her eyes that indicates to Cullen that she is committing it _all_ to memory. He has no doubt that she will double her efforts to find out more about Evelyn Trevelyan’s past.

“Perhaps we should leave the Inquisitor to her rest.” Her voice is smooth, her smile small. “She has been through much, and there are things we need to discuss about her training.” Leliana’s tone leaves no room for argument: she is firm, and already she is beginning to retreat. Cullen sighs and follows dutifully, with Solas behind him.

As Cullen is about to close the door he hears Varric, who has remained by her side, give a heavy sigh.

“I knew that nickname didn’t fit, dove. Going to need to come up with a new one.”

* * *

Very few people are initially told of Evelyn’s ‘wake up’ from Tranquility. Most of the inner circle had been taken to Adamant, and many are marching back with the soldiers at a slower pace than the advisors, Solas, Varric and a magic-induced unconscious Evelyn.

Dorian had been left at Skyhold with many of the mages and a contingent of soldiers, not because they could not be trusted but because no one could be certain Skyhold would be completely safe when they had left. And with the Wardens binding their own mages, it had made sense to leave as many mages behind as they could spare. As such, he was there when Evelyn had been allowed to wake up in her quarters.

Dorian goes in to see her the second day she wakes, acting for all the world as though she had never been tranquil in the first place. Though Solas has advised rest and isolation, Dorian waves those concerns away with a hand gesture and extracts her from the room, all but daring the guard outside her door to go and tell the Commander. Each day he arrives and removes her from the room, taking her for regular walks around the garden believing the peace and quiet will help her to calm down.

The soldiers who stand guard in the garden report to Cullen that they have seen no sight more heart-breaking than the relieved grin on Dorian’s face when Evelyn, on that first day, responds to a joke of his with interest and a laugh she cannot control. Cullen realises with a pang that no one had thought to consider how much of a toll it must have been on Dorian to give friendship and receive nothing in return.

Varric remains in her chambers with her during the daylight hours, working on his writings or reading to her from the _Tales of the Champion_. They had all unanimously agreed that books would be a good way to reintroduce her to the spectrum of emotions without them being personally relevant to her. It seems to be working, though Varric reports on the third day that her reactions are still extremely strong.

On the fourth day, Cullen visits her. He has intended to go in for a while now, desperate to apologise to her for his behaviour towards her for the first eight months of their relationship. She may have been tranquil, but that is no excuse for his avoidance of her. She may have made him uncomfortable, but she is their _leader_. It no doubt had looked terrible to the troops to see their Commander keeping any and all conversation with their leader to the absolute minimum.

When he arrives, however, she is sitting at her desk with Dorian opposite her, laughing at one of his awful impressions of a chapter from Varric’s _Sword and Shields_. Dorian and Varric have started to make shifts out of spending time with Evelyn, for helping her was quickly becoming emotionally draining.

“Ah, Inquisitor. I did not realise you had company, forgive me.” Cullen bows his head politely and makes to leave, but Evelyn leans forward in her seat with a noise of protest.

“Commander please, do not leave.” She winces at the volume of her own voice, but Cullen does as she asks and strides across the room so he stands opposite her desk. There is a pained expression on her face.

“Are you well, Inquisitor?”

“I… no, I am not.” She turns to Dorian, hesitating, but he merely nods at her in encouragement. Is it bizarre. “The day before we left to march for Adamant, precisely how long ago was that?”

Cullen does not expect that question, and now he is curious. He raises a brow at her, keeping his expression neutral and a hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Twenty-seven days ago, Inquisitor.”

“Twenty-seven? That is a lot more than I thought, but I can manage that, it is only one dose per day.” She is visibly trying to keep her voice calm, and he can see her restraining herself in the rigidness of her muscles.

Nevertheless, Cullen winces; he knows exactly where this conversation is going.

“Commander Cullen, I request that you stop taking lyrium.”

Cullen is fairly certain he is catching flies with his mouth open as it is: Mia would swat him if she were here, and so he regains his lost composure.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“When I was in the Circle, you know I was a healer. I also undertook research into lyrium addiction. I believe I can help you get rid of the addiction.”

Cullen cannot quite believe it; it was _she_ who had told him to go back on the blighted stuff! Granted, she was Tranquil, but they'd had a  _chance_ to be rid of the addiction, a chance that he considers to be long gone.

“Inquisitor, I must tell you this is a _bad_ idea. We’re in the middle of a war, and I have been back on lyrium for too long. The initial withdrawal alone could be enough to put me out for weeks.”

“No, the withdrawal if you stopped it immediately would do that. Commander, I think if you were weaned off of lyrium quickly over the next few months, you could return to how you were before.”

“Inquisitor, you _told me_ how I was before wasn’t good enough, that I needed to give to the Inquisition what I gave to the Templars.”

They are both trying to be calm, but Cullen stands there as tense as Evelyn. How charged would the air be, he wonders, if she was not wearing the cuffs? Would her magic crackle or snap like a whip? Either way, she sits there with a determined look on her face, though there are tears in her eyes, and she speaks she sounds like she is exhausted, wound tight like a coil. 

“Commander, when I visited you in your office the day before we marched, I was tranquil. I could not see any path other than the logical choice. You were suffering, and lyrium would have alleviated it. It was _you_ who shouted that you did not want to give less to the Inquisition than you did the Templars.”

She pauses for a moment, assessing his reaction. “Commander, when I told you to take the lyrium, that was absolutely the most logical course of action. But it was not the right one. I realise that now.” Evelyn's smile is weak and brittle, but it is sincere. “My moral compass is returning, and I cannot suffer the guilt of you returning to an addiction you were finally purging from your system.”

Her control is breaking, and Cullen wonders how long she has practiced this speech in order to make it five minutes without her emotions spilling out. He can see the stress it causes to her system, can see how her shoulders shake even though she grips the chair tightly, and the sight of it curbs any anger rising in his chest.

Her words offer him an opportunity, a way for him to silence the voice in his head that wails at him for his failure to stand by his decision to abandon lyrium. But they also carry a risk that Evelyn will not entertain, that his withdrawal could be worse than it was the first time.

“Please, Commander.” Her voice shows a crack in her control, wavering as guilt begins to chip at her composure. Cullen is certain the look he gives her is one of great pain.

“Inquisitor, I don’t know if I can, the risk is far too great.” He pauses, wondering why Dorian has not spoken once during their exchange. Perhaps he had agreed to let Evelyn do this alone? “I will think on it, Inquisitor. There is…much I need to consider.”

“Of course.”

Her tranquil mask slams into place, like a reprieve from her own heart, and he knows the aftermath is going to be draining for her. He edges towards the door, doubt and hope warring in his mind, and Evelyn nods in silent permission for him to leave.

Cullen does think he can flee quickly enough, and he dies not hear her desperate, guilty sob as he shuts the door.

“ _Forgive me_.”


	3. Adjusting

When Cullen entered her quarters in the late evening of the next day, Evelyn was sat at her desk mixing ingredients in a small cauldron. The room smelt earthy and fresh, but Cullen could also detect the heaviness of tightly controlled magic.

He realised within a few seconds that she was trying to control the lit braziers with her magic, as well as heating up the cauldron as much as she dared to whilst her control was so tenuous.

Evelyn smiled at him as he approached, and he knew his purpose in coming to her must have been clear on his face for she grinned at him, unrestrained and happy. It was still an odd experience to see such an expression on her face, and Cullen felt that whoever had made her tranquil could not have seen her smile before. It would have made the task impossible, knowing they were going to vanquish that smile forever.

Evelyn quickly averted her eyes, however, and focused on heating the cauldron until it bubbled, so warm that he could feel the heat from where he had stopped before her desk. Her control was not refined, however, for he could see the brazier flames behind her growing with every second she focused on the cauldron, and Cullen felt her alarm shift the magic in the air before the temperature plummeted, and the top of the cauldron cracked from the dramatic shift in heat.

None of the mixture spilled out, thankfully, and Evelyn sat back in her chair with a sigh and slapped a delicate pair of plaited gold bracelets onto her wrists. Cullen felt the magic in the air fizz out, and Evelyn gave him an exasperated smile.

“They are the mana-inhibiting bracelets that Dagna was commissioned to make, they were delivered to me this morning. Apparently they are aesthetically pleasing enough to be worn for the Winter Palace, if needed. They may look delicate, but Dagna reassures me that I cannot remove them myself, and they are strong enough that they cannot be removed by force.”

“Ah, they seem innocuous enough. I certainly cannot feel your magic in the air as I did when I entered.” Cullen gave her a small smile, which Evelyn returned before she tugged nervously at her collar.

“Speaking of, Commander, have you had a chance to think on what we discussed yesterday?”

“That’s why I’m here, actually. I realise that now probably isn’t the best time to try this, but I _cannot_ keep taking the lyrium. I feel that I’ve failed the Inquisition by giving in. And I don’t want to feel like that anymore.”

“So you will allow me to help you wean off the lyrium?”

“If the offer still stands, yes.”

Evelyn’s smile was unrestrained and willingly bright, more a side effect of her relief and fluctuating emotions than genuine joy, but Cullen gave her a smile in return nonetheless.

“Excellent! I mean, that is great news, really.” He could see her trying to reel in her emotions, trying to keep control of herself. She sat forward in her chair, clasping her hands before the cauldron. “I have a timetable of doses you should take, as well as several potions that would help you through the withdrawal symptoms. Would you like me to give you the instructions, or talk through them with you now?”

“The latter, if you have the time.”

“Right, so you are taking one dose a day, yes? The average sized bottle that is dispensed to the Templars here?” He nodded. “You need to stop taking the lyrium immediately, and hold out for as long as you can until withdrawal kicks in. Then for the next ten days after it starts, I want you to take half of the full dose daily. Then for twelve days after that, I want you to take that half dose on alternating days. Now…” Evelyn trailed off, pulling open the drawers at her desk frantically and pulling out green bottles of what looked to be muddy slime.

“These are mixtures that should help you with your headaches. I know they do not look it, but they are filtered, so they should be smooth enough to drink as quickly as you can. Never take more than one of these a day, and try to do it at the point of maximum time between your lyrium doses. After the twenty-two days of your dosage shortening, for fifteen days you need to take a _quarter_ of your original dose every two days. Since you have only been taking the lyrium again for just under a month, this _should_ get you to the stage you were at before I told you to take it again.”

“And then?” Evelyn had become frantic as she spoke, the desperation and guilt in her words obvious even to him. He leaned against the desk, looking down at her as she found an envelope and handed it to him.

“I _should_ be back from the Emerald Graves by that point, but if I am not then there are further instructions in here that should be easy to follow. This plan should get you back to how you were a month ago, so you will still experience your usual symptoms. However, I want to see how you progress over the next month, before I give you the go-ahead to follow these. Please, if your withdrawal does not begin until after I have left for the Emerald Graves in two days’ time, then I would like you to send word by raven so I know exactly when it does begin.”

Evelyn’s smile was calm, forced to slide into its old mask so she could reign in her emotions, but Cullen was pleased to see that it was taking longer for her to be forced into it.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. I promise to keep you updated whilst you’re in the Graves.”

“No, thank _you_ , Commander, for letting me make amends. I felt no guilt greater than this when I realised what I had done, that I had put you back on the worst drug I had seen during my apprentice years.”

Cullen softened, then, and felt a twisted pity for her. It was still strange to consider her a human being with emotions now, a woman who could feel with every fibre of her being when once he had treat her as the emotionless shell she had been. _He_ still felt guilty for only ever speaking to her when he had needed to, for never trying to understand the tranquil before the woman returned. It did not make the transition easier for him, or for any of those who had not bothered with her.

“You couldn’t know, Inquisitor. I merely regret that at the time your choice seemed the logical one. I am… glad _you_ are here to change your own decision.”

Evelyn’s placid smile pushed down the confused frown she was sure she would show if she reacted to the funny feeling in her stomach. It vaguely resembled nausea, but she _knew_ that was not it, because it also made her want to grin widely again at the Commander. With a small shake of her head, she gave Cullen a tiny smile of thanks.

“I thank you for being so understanding, Commander Cullen.” She stood up then, ready to escort Cullen to the stairs and perhaps step closer to him, though she couldn’t understand _why_ she wanted to, when the door to her quarters was flung open.

“ _Fuck_ , they weren’t lying, were they Smiler?”

Cullen thought it would perhaps be prudent to stick around to make sure Evelyn didn’t have an emotional meltdown around Sera, but on second thought he realised that Sera needed this, needed to meet _Evelyn_ on her own without any prying eyes.

He quietly excused himself as Sera barged past.

* * *

 

“We got a note from Red after you'd woken up, saying some cryptic shite like ‘she is who she was before.’ It was me an’ Bull who figured out what it meant, that you'd woken up and hadn't become quiet again.”

Sera was sitting cross-legged on Evelyn’s bed, leaning back on her arms as she watched Evelyn carefully. Her bow was slung onto the floor beside the bed, and her quiver lay on Evelyn’s bedside drawer. Evelyn herself was leaning against her desk, her arms folded and her hair pulled down from its tie now that she was no longer mixing potions.

“It’s friggin weird, seeing you stood there all normal and not upright. You’re supposed to be all stiff and cool and uncaring.”

Evelyn laughed then, but felt hurt flash through her when Sera recoiled at the sound.

“I _am_ back to who I used to be. It is difficult, and they have had to stop my magic for most of the day because I cannot control it. But I _am_ me, even if I have to catch up on eight years of emotions as soon as I can.”

“Nah, you don’t need your magic anyway. You were good with your stick-thing, and I’ve got your back in a fight, yeah?”

Evelyn sighed in response, and Sera gave a little shake to show her level of freaked out.

“I am going to be trained to use my magic again, and hopefully I will have control of it soon.”

“Yeah, don’t let me be near when you try that. Don’t wanna get caught in the boom.” Sera jumped up from the bed then, and moved closer to Evelyn to inspect her. She prodded Evelyn in the forehead, her finger lining up with the centre of where her sunburst seal used to be.

“So it’s just _gone_ , yeah? That’s a bit freaky innit, how do y’know it’s not gonna come back?”

“I hope it never does.”

Sera looked thoughtful for a moment, confused and uncertain before she squinted once more at Evelyn’s blank forehead.

“Me too.” Uncomfortable at the admission, Sera took a step back before her face twisted. “I’m not gonna let you go back to that, even if you ain’t quite right _now_.”

Evelyn’s smile was winning, though it only unsettled Sera further. It was too _weird_ , too freaky to spend so long trying to get a reaction out of her only for a switch to be flicked and for Evelyn to suddenly be _normal_.

“I want to thank you, Sera. I know most of your interactions with me were because you wanted to try and provoke an emotional reaction out of me, to see if I was really incapable of emotion. But even so, you protected me out in the field, made sure I was safe. You were kind, if not rough.” Evelyn’s lips twisted in a wry smile, and Sera made a face at her in response.

“Yeah yeah, shove it with the mushy shite. And stop smiling, that nickname was s’posed to be ironic.”

Evelyn’s smile disappeared, and for a moment Sera was begrudgingly concerned, until Evelyn spoke again without any inflections in her tone and her face completely blank.

“Of course, Sera. I did not mean to offend you.”

“Argh, just stop it! That ain’t right either!” Sera gave Evelyn a soft punch in the shoulder before turning to grab her bow and quiver and storming out of the room.

Evelyn’s laughter followed her down the stairs, and even Sera couldn’t help but grin at the sound.

* * *

When Cullen saw her again, three hours before she was due to leave for the Graves, it was in the early hours of the morning. The sky was still a deep dark blue, steadily getting lighter as the chilled wind ruffled the cloak of his mantle when he left the warmth of Skyhold’s small chantry.

The garden was quiet, the only sound that of the leaves in the trees rustling and the distant clink of the armour of the guards patrolling the walls far above. It was peaceful in the dim light, the cool air a respite from the fever and headache he felt coming on.

Today was the day he would take half of his dose.

He spotted Evelyn by chance, glancing behind him as he went to re-enter the main hall. She was curled up in one of the chairs by the chess table, her feet tucked under her as she stared across the garden to the herb patches. Her hair had been braided, though it was clearly the first time in a long time that it had been attempted, if the odd bumps were anything to go by. Her face was calm, her eyes eerily blank.

Cullen hesitated only a moment before he moved away from the door to the hall: his curiosity got the better of him, and he walked over to her loudly enough that his sudden presence would not startle her. As he approached and sat in the chair opposite, Evelyn gave him a small smile and uncurled until she was sitting properly on her chair.

“Commander Cullen, you are awake early.”

“I might say the same of you, Inquisitor. It is not yet five of the morning watch. You’re not due to leave for the Emerald Graves for another three hours.” Cullen tried to appear relaxed, tried to appear as though his head wasn’t pounding with every word he spoke, but Evelyn was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice. That, or she was tactfully not mentioning it.

When her eyes briefly flickered over to him, he figured it must have been the latter. He noticed then that she was wearing a new set of fighting leathers, which were slightly heavier looking than her previous pair. There was a sheen to them which indicated an elemental resistance of some kind, and Cullen wondered if Solas and Dorian were already planning to teach her out on the field. A brand new spell book was attached to her belt, and he could tell from the green emblem that it contained only healing spells.

“I am… frightened.” Evelyn bowed her head then, breaking Cullen from his observations of her. He gave her a comforting smile.

“Inquisitor, you will be safe out there. Cassandra will protect you, as will the rest of your companions.”

Evelyn pulled her knees up to her chest then, resting her chin on them and looking over to Cullen with a shake of her head.

“I know, but all the times I went into battle before, it was because I had to. I fought because my instinct told me to, because I did not want to die, not because I wanted to protect myself or because I was scared. But now I want to help, and I want to fight because it is _right_ , but I am so, _so_ scared. What if I fail? Or I cannot protect myself properly. I have never gone into a fight _scared_ before, Commander. I never _cared_ to survive it before now. I am scared of the pain of a wound, of getting distracted and ending up dying because I do not think in strictly logical terms anymore.”

Cullen straightened during her speech, leaning forward with his elbow resting on the table as he locked eyes with her. He smiled in what he hoped was a comforting way, hoping to ease her.

“Inquisitor, _everyone_ feels that way before their first battle. You have to face it someday. I would rather you feel this fear when going into battle with Cassandra in the Graves, than have you forced to face it for the first time in a situation similar to Haven. Better that you freeze up with Cassandra and Dorian to protect you, than alone with Corypheus.” His voice was kind, an attempt to be reassuring that seemingly succeeded when Evelyn unfolded her knees again and leant forward to look down at the chess set on the table. There was a ghost of a smile on her face, before she clamped down on it to force her fear aside.

There was silence between them for a few moments, and Cullen became aware of the dripping water of the well as Evelyn cocked her head at the chessboard.

“I have forgotten how to play chess.”

“You do not play? I would have thought chess a good game for a logical mind.”

Evelyn’s responding smile was sad.

“You would think so, except a tranquil can find no logical reason to play, and so would not gain anything from doing so. I never _wanted_ to play, because it was a waste of time I could spend researching.”

 _Cullen_ looked sad at that, and his jaw tensed in what Evelyn surmised must have been anger at himself. She quickly gave a chuckle though, which snapped his attention back to her.

“I used to play with my mother when I was a little girl. I will need to send word to her about my… awakening? She was distraught when she found out I had asked for tranquility, so no doubt she will be pleased to hear I am tranquil no more." There was a moment of silence between them, before Evelyn spoke up again. "Commander, I have a proposition for you.”

Cullen’s eyebrow quirked up at that, and he chuckled at the frown that came onto her face in response.

“Apologies, Inquisitor. What are you going to suggest?” His smile made hers return to her face, and Cullen felt his eyes linger on her own for too long before he looked away.

“When I return from the Graves, I will want to check on your progress with the lyrium. Rather than hold these talks in either of our offices, I propose that you teach me how to play chess whilst _I_ monitor your progress in shaking off your lyrium leash.”

Cullen considered it for a moment. It would be perfectly _safe_ , if she had the mana-inhibitors on, and he could not deny that she was helping him greatly with shaking off the lyrium addiction. He gave a nod in assent, a small smile on his features.

“I can agree to that, Inquisitor. I look forward to your return from the Graves.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, before Cullen raised a hand nervously to the back of his neck, his smile disappearing as something nagged at his thoughts.

“Inquisitor, please do not take offense when I ask this, but why did you choose the Rite of Tranquility? It sounds as though you had everything to lose by doing so. You were a healer, the best apprentice in healing at the Ostwick circle.” Cullen regretted that the last fact revealed that he had read her file, but Evelyn did not take notice.

She had stood up, her leather coat creased behind where she had tucked her knees in. Evelyn was chewing her lip, her eyebrows furrowed and her thoughts far, far away as she absently took a few steps forwards, passing Cullen. Her fingers rested on the back of the chair Cullen was sitting in, and he turned slightly to get a better look at her as she breathed in deeply.

It would make sense, later, to consider that she had shut herself down in order to avoid emotional backlash when she told him the smallest detail of what happened. But in the future, whenever Cullen remembered that conversation in the garden, the hairs on the back of his neck would still rise to see the chilled look darken Evelyn’s features. He would never forget the cool tone of her voice, slight shame tinting her words but _wholly_ , utterly lacking in any regret or guilt as she spoke the next words to come out of her mouth.

“Commander, I did what no healer should ever do. I tortured and killed a man in a pre-meditated murder, and hid his body in the basement of the Circle where it was not found until a month after I took the rite.”


	4. Training

“The cover-up of the Dragon Age, clearly.”

The small file was thrown onto the war table with such frustration that Cullen briefly wasn’t certain Leliana hadn’t been possessed by a rage demon. Their spymaster had an unimpressed frown on her lips, her eyebrows narrowed as she threw a glare at the file. Even Josephine looked alarmed at seeing their Spymaster outmatched in her search for information.

“Explain.”

Evelyn had been gone for three weeks. Cullen had given Leliana the small snippet of information Evelyn had revealed about why she chose Tranquility, and Leliana had been focused on the task with Josephine providing her support, fearful in case any information came up that could paint their Inquisitor in a bad light. The last thing they needed, Josephine argued, was for information to arise which would call for people to make Evelyn tranquil once more. Cullen was inclined to agree with the women.

“I started searching to find out the truth, yes? So we could have the information, and we could destroy it so that there would be no proof of what happened. It would do no good for someone to step forward claiming the Inquisitor had murdered their brother, no? There _is no_ information.”

“There’s always information, Leliana. Search harder, you’re bound to find something.”

The look she threw him was one of exasperation, as though every word he was saying was something which she had said to herself.

“I found _nothing_. I had a scout in Ostwick try to break into the Circle’s record chamber, only to find nothing was written on her file that I did not already have. The scout then searched the records for deaths in the month before and after she was made tranquil. It _appeared_ that we found nothing: the suicide of a young apprentice aged sixteen, who had a year and a half of records as her other file had been destroyed at the Gallows.” She levelled a look at Cullen then, who did his best not to react to the mention of the tower.

“The other death was that of a Templar, found dead in the basement of the tower. I _thought_ that meant nothing, until Josephine received a missive last week.”

At those words, Josephine placed a piece of parchment on the table next to the file. The writing on it was neat but blocky, clearly written whilst some sort of gauntlet was worn.

“Leliana’s scout delivered this to me. It is a note from the Knight Commander of Ostwick’s circle, helpfully telling us that The Inquisition will find nothing in their record chamber. She tells us that the two deaths were not linked, and that she herself has no knowledge of why Evelyn chose Tranquility.  The Knight Commander also writes that she has no reason to believe Evelyn was linked to these two people, and that if we are 'really that bothered about Evelyn's decision then grow a spine and ask her' for ourselves, as she does not possess a teenage Evelyn's diary.”

Josephine looked a little affronted at that, and Cullen had to hide his amusement: clearly the Knight Commander had no patience for writing respectful, nice letters. Leliana shifted her footing and moved her arms over her chest, shaking her head.

“I can find no one to tell me any information. Whoever the Inquisitor murdered, the Ostwick Circle has no idea it even happened.”

“Every single bit of information, anything we could glean something from, is simply not there?” Cullen tightened his fist on his sword, incredulous that the finding of a templar  _dead_ in a basement could rouse no suspicion.

“There is, quite literally Commander, _nothing._ I told you, it’s the cover up of the Dragon Age. A dead templar, a dead girl, and a healer who did or did not help birth the child of one and murdered the other, and chose Tranquility in the aftermath.”

“Are you certain she murdered the _templar_? You said the files noted he was found in the basement, but do they say how?” Cullen felt something in his chest recoil at the thought that Evelyn could hate Templars so much she would kill one of them in cold blood. Leliana raised a brow at his discomfort, but nodded.

“They found him dead, drained of blood but with no wounds. With no visible evidence of foul play, they had no reason to suspect her.”

Josephine leant forward then, a confused look on her face.

“You said she helped birth the child of the girl, who then ends up committing suicide… and then the Templar ends up dead?” Leliana’s response to her question was a look of distaste.

“The implications are… unpleasant. But we cannot know the circumstances because there is no evidence. This is all linked somehow, I’m sure of it, but I cannot find out _how_.”

“Why would she kill the templar? She would have known if they discovered it they would have killed her, regardless of it she was tranquil or not. I don’t… I don’t think we should pry in to this anymore, Leliana. It is far too convoluted.” Cullen’s words were low and reflected the confusion on Josephine and Leliana’s faces. He had no patience for unsolvable mysteries, and it was startling to learn that the Inquisitor may or may not have been involved with the deaths of  _two_ people at the tower.

Her laugh broke him from his thoughts; there was a wicked grin on their spymaster’s face as she picked the file back up from the war room’s table.

“Oh Commander, this has only made me _more_ determined to find out what had happened in Ostwick’s circle tower eight years ago.”

As she left the room quickly, Josephine and Cullen watched her go with equal amounts of uncertainty.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Nonsense, Cullen. I’m sure Leliana knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Cullen chuckled.

“You don’t look convinced, Lady Josephine.”

* * *

“Evelyn, if you have used this spell before then you can use it again. _Pull_ the barrier to you.”

“I am _trying_!”

“My dear, as entertaining as this is to watch, screeching at Solas like you’re a pig facing the slaughter is going to achieve nothing if you don’t try _properly_.”

Any magic that Evelyn had been managing to pull through the veil dissipated as she started to laugh, and she lowered her palms. The rock fist that hit her in the stomach was strong enough to knock her onto her arse without hurting her, and she landed on the grass with a thump as Solas turned a glare towards Dorian.

“You are not helping.”

“And neither are you. _Telling_ her to pull up a barrier isn’t going to work. Evelyn, on your feet.”

Evelyn stood to attention quickly, stumbling a little as she stood up. As Cassandra and Varric looked over to her from the fire, Dorian set his eyes on them and grinned.

“Cassandra! Could you be a dear and stand behind Evelyn?”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed; it seemed she could tell exactly what Dorian was planning to do by the glint in his eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on, it’s the only way we can train her to control her magic quickly enough.”

Varric was chuckling as Cassandra begrudgingly shoved her bowl of stew into the dwarf’s hands, and the formidable woman came up to stand behind Evelyn. Although Cassandra was not much taller than Evelyn, her armoured frame compared to Evelyn’s made her appear to be much larger than the small, leather-clad woman. Dorian couldn’t resist a light tease.

“See, my dear, you have no choice now but to pull a barrier up when I throw a fireball at you: your body is so tiny compared to-“

“-Get on with it, Dorian.”

“Ah, yes Seeker. Evelyn, throw the barrier up when I throw the fireball.”

Solas made a point of moving out of the way of any potential rebounds from the spell, and Evelyn readied her stance as Dorian faced her. He gave her a wicked grin, walking a few steps towards her before he quickly took his staff from his back and swung it towards her, using the momentum to direct the fireball. It was to Evelyn’s shock and surprise that he moved so _quickly_ , the back of his coat flapping around the back of his knees as he moved.

The barrier was thrown up as Cassandra’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, the older woman fiercely resisting her natural instinct to react to the magic. Evelyn felt winded as the burning flame hit her, before it harmlessly absorbed into the light blue barrier she had managed to erect around herself and Cassandra.

There was silence for a moment, Solas looking on in veiled disbelief as Dorian wore the cockiest grin possible. Evelyn’s relief was palpable, her tightly wound, forced control on her magic slowly unravelling and rolling off of her in waves: the taste of magic was thick in the air to Cassandra, and the only one who could not sense it was Varric, who started to clap lightly from his seat at the fire.

“Well done, giggles.”

Cassandra threw a disapproving look his way, her eyebrow raised.

“No, it is too similar to Chuckles.”

"Eh, we'll get there."

Evelyn was fairly certain Dorian’s responding cackle could be heard even by their scouts in the middle of the forest, but she could not stop grinning in relief and happiness. She was finally able to start _properly_ using magic again: the flames she could conduct were more a result of her letting go of her control than an active attempt at conjuring them. The barrier had been the first spell she had _tried_ to do. She was thrilled, and relieved more so at the fact that she _could_ laugh along with her companions, where once she had been silent and observant on the road, cold as ice and not much caring.

Even Solas looked amused, allowing her a respite before he dragged her back into trying to control her magic.

* * *

“Your progress so far is… remarkable.”

Cassandra’s comment caught Evelyn off guard: they were traipsing through the northern forest of the Graves, further north than they had been on earlier excursions. Part of that reason may have been Evelyn’s sudden, re-emerging wish to explore, though the woman in question claimed it was the need to search for more logging stands and remaining rifts before they left. Varric and Solas were walking at the back, having a debate on Solas’ “fallen empire crap.” Dorian was flitting between the two conversations depending on which he found more interesting.

“I… What do you mean?” Evelyn fiddled with the spell book on her hip, opening and closing the clasp as a way to help her control the discomfort that had suddenly came over her.

“Magically you have a long way to go, but your emotions… It would be difficult to tell you were ever tranquil, if I were to look at you in passing. You seem to have them under control.”

“It… a lot of it is acting. I remember how I _should_ act, so I do. I have a lot of fear, a lot of anger, and a tangled knot of other emotions I am trying to work through. Every few minutes I feel my mood swinging in another direction, but I know I must clamp it down and pretend. I am not _controlling_ my emotions; I am just controlling how they are expressed.”

“So you _don’t_ actually have control.”

“No.” Evelyn gave Cassandra a weak smile, rubbing the gold bands around her wrists nervously. “I would not advise taking these off unless I am anything but calm, at least until I am in control of myself.”

Dorian, who had made a bet with Varric in the middle of the dwarf’s debate with Solas, pushed himself in between Cassandra and Evelyn with all of his usual grace.

“So tell me, dear Evelyn. If you have _all_ of your emotions back, do you still have your natural _urges_?” The question was asked with a suggestive brow wiggle, and Cassandra scoffed in disgust at the other mage.

“That is personal, mage.”

“Yes, if I were asking _you_. I’m not, I’m asking our Inquisitor here.”

Evelyn tugged at the bands on her wrist, briefly marvelling at how she could not even move them up and down, in an attempt to delay answering.

“I… no, not _those_ urges. But when _I_ came back, I did start to feel things. Obviously I felt immediate friendship towards you both, because you had both looked after me as a tranquil, and I was close to you. But other emotions, like attraction, also came back. Although I know I do not feel _true_ attraction: it is simply a side effect of being able to _feel_ , and only natural that I would latch on to the most attractive man I am acquainted with. I will overcome it soon, I am sure.” Evelyn felt a blush heating her cheeks as she babbled, and she turned her face away slightly as Dorian gave a massive grin.

“My dear, I know I am the most attractive man you know, and I truly am flattered, but I regret that you’re simply too much like a sister to me for me to reciprocate.”

Cassandra looked at Dorian in distaste as he spoke, but Evelyn grinned and shook her head.

“Not _you_ , Dorian.”

Cassandra’s laugh was lovely, Evelyn observed, mirth in her eyes as Dorian looked affronted.

“What, whyever not!”

“I was a very observant tranquil, Dorian. If you think I did not notice you sneaking into a certain Inquisition member’s bed every few nights, then I am afraid I have some bad news for you.”

It was _Dorian’s_ turn to blush, and he crossed his arms over his chest as they came to an open area of gnarled trees and scattered stone bricks. The air was cooler here, the ground hard beneath their feet.

“I have no idea _what_ you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do not.” Evelyn smiled sweetly at the man before she looked over the cliff face in confusion, pulling the map from her pocket.

“Have any of our scouts reached here before? I think we have wandered off of our map. We may be dangerously close to the Greater Mistral, and we are not equipped to fight her.” Evelyn did not see the look of irritation cross Cassandra’s face, nor did she notice Dorian drop back to lean towards Varric. She _did_ hear the heavy flap of wings beating the air, though on a far, _far_ louder scale than any she had ever heard before. As she looked up from the map, she saw Dorian lean in towards Varric.

“You owe me five royals. There’s no fucking _way_ that thing farts fire: it’s practically shitting icicles.”

“Well, _shit_. Move!”

They all separated in the space of a heartbeat as the dragon landed hard where they had been stood seconds earlier. The scream that it let loose from its throat was sharp enough that Evelyn thought her eardrums were going to burst.

Evelyn regained her bearings as the sound died down, and noticed that _Solas_ had dragged her to one side with a hand wrapped tightly around her upper arm. Cassandra was already charging in to the fray, acting as a useful distraction whilst Varric stood roughly thirty yards behind her with his crossbow already firing.

As for Dorian… Evelyn had to look around quickly to spot the mage: he was _behind_ the dragon, quickly and efficiently launching fireball after fireball at it with his staff. The tail was smoking, the blue and green scales darkening with every hit as the other mage took slower steps backwards to avoid the swing of the tail.

Solas pulled her roughly behind him, his staff at the ready in his hands and a barrier already erected over Varric and Cassandra. Evelyn felt helpless: she knew she had no choice but to stay as close to Solas as possible, unable to fight due to the bracelets and unable to use her staff for the same reason. She took as many bandages and health potions from her pack as she could hold in both hands, ready to help physically heal if Solas got any injuries.

She stood there, useless and helpless for nigh on twenty minutes, following Solas around the edge of the battlefield as he cast healing spells and put up barriers for their companions. Cassandra was miraculously still going strong, but Varric was unfortunate enough to have ran out of crossbow bolts: the dwarf was forced to dart close to the dragon to pick up as many bolts that had bounced off of her scales as he could.

Evelyn was so focused on Varric and Cassandra that it took too long for her to notice how tired _Dorian_ was. He was faltering, his hair slick with sweat and his movements much slower as his staff threw basic fire spells at the Mistral. The dragon threw its head back once more and a scream tore from its throat, sharp enough to truly daze Dorian, and then its tail smacked him with such force that Evelyn could hear the impact from where she stood.

He hit the tree behind him _hard_ , though Evelyn wasn’t sure if she should be thankful it was with less force than that of the initial tail strike. She did not even need to look twice to know he was unconscious, but Solas grabbed her shoulder and shook her when she moved to go over to him.

“You will be too close to the dragon! If she turns on you, you have no way to protect yourself!”

Evelyn was torn, but ultimately knew they would need to lure the dragon away from its corner of the battlefield if she had any hope of going over to dress Dorian’s wounds.

Unfortunately, Dorian falling had been too much of a distraction, had taken too much time out of Varric’s concentration: the dragon breathed pure ice at the dwarf just as Solas managed to erect another barrier over him. Varric was protected, but Bianca was not. The weapon jammed, the trigger frozen solid and the bolt halfway to being released. Varric desperately tried to pull the trigger to no avail, and the dragon batted him out of its way as though he were nothing more than a ragdoll.

It was Solas and Cassandra left fighting now, and Cassandra was looking as though she too were about to lag. She had not let Dorian or Varric’s fall distract her, but the left arm of her thick steel armour had been ripped off by a particularly sharp talon in a close call, and what was visible of her arm was covered in blood. Blood was dripping from a cut above her brow down into her eye, and Evelyn could _see_ what Solas did not have time to analyse: Cassandra was starting to lose her strength, and Evelyn had no more energy potions in her pack.

She turned to Solas desperately, her eyes hard and determined as he finished off another barrier spell on Cassandra. Evelyn pulled her leather coat off quickly, and thrust her wrists violently in Solas’ direction. The elvhen mage spun to look at her, a confused warning on his face.

“Take them off!”

“No! You are not calm enough to help with the barriers: you are too dangerous!”

“I do not _want_ to help the barriers! You need flames against an ice dragon, _take the bracelets off!”_

Solas shook his head, and Evelyn screamed in frustration.

“Quiet! You are simply too dangerous!”

Cassandra stumbled, the fall somehow managing to help her avoid a deadly swipe from the dragon’s claws, and Evelyn pointed angrily.

“ _Look at that!_ Do you think I am more dangerous than that? Do you think you can fight that thing alone!”

Solas turned away from her, using his staff to send lightning towards the dragon. It turned its attention on Solas, who up until then had not actually been _hitting_ it, being more focused on helping to heal the three on the battlefield.

“I am not fighting it alone!”

“You _know_ Cassandra will not last much longer without more help: you _will_ be fighting that thing on your own if you do not take these off!”

“It is not worth the risk: you may do more damage to yourself!”

The dragon reared its head back as Solas haphazardly threw a fist of rock towards it. The spell was weak, his mana depleting with the more energy consuming spells, and it was Evelyn that noticed it was about to breathe cold ice at them. She dragged Solas to the side, the ice catching on the end of his staff as Cassandra tried to strike at its bared neck. Solas took one glance at the ice streak where he had just been stood and turned to look at Evelyn.

“Thank you-“

“Take the bracelets off Solas! If you take them off, we might die: if you leave them on, we _will!_ ” The dragon shrieked again, needle pricks on their eardrums, and Evelyn forced Solas to look at her. Her frustration was mounting, the volatility of whatever she would unleash rising with every second her anger grew. “I am not as dangerous as that dragon: _so do it or we die!_ ” Evelyn was screaming her words, and still she could barely be heard over the roars of the dragon. The Mistral snapped her teeth towards Cassandra, the sound audible over the battlefield, and Solas hesitated.

It was enough: Evelyn thrusted her wrists towards him once more, the cold, gold bangles shining in the light and thrumming with the magic that held her mana at bay. Looking for all the world as though this was the very last thing he wanted to do, Solas leant towards her and swiftly unclasped her magic restraints.

Burning hot, the thin bracelets fell to the floor, and the dragon screeched.


	5. Dragon

Evelyn stood immobile for the briefest moment, her eyes locked with Solas’ and her entire body tense. Her jaw snapped shut, her teeth pressed together tightly as she squeezed her eyes shut in pain. Hands rigid and entire body held like a tightly wound coil, she managed to hiss a single word out through her lips.

“ _Barriers_.” Solas wasted no time, erecting barriers over himself, Cassandra, Dorian and Varric. When their bodies were covered with the light blue shimmer, he gave Evelyn a sharp nod which she caught through squinted eyes.

As Evelyn breathed out, her body released the tension and a burning display of fire erupted from the veil around her. Several powerful balls of flame propelled at the dragon, leaving trails of smoke and heat behind them as they engulfed the Mistral in painful, burning light. Cassandra was thrown backwards as they impacted with the dragon, burning even hotter before blasting outwards in an explosion that scorched the earth around the dragon. Cassandra was spared injury, though Solas had to quickly place another barrier around her.

The dragon screeched again, stumbling in pain as the outside of its scales charred in the heat. It tried to open its jaws to breathe ice in Evelyn’s direction, but the cold dissipated pitifully in the heat of the explosion. It gave a moan of pain, a sound so heart-wrenchingly sad that Evelyn felt tears in her eyes as she conjured the fiercest wall of flame she could muster at its feet. Raising her hand through the air, the flames increased in height and heat: sweat was dripping down her forehead even at the distance she stood, and the dragon stumbled backwards, desperately trying to step away from the flames that followed it.

Removing her staff from her back less than a minute after Solas had removed her bracelets, Evelyn followed the casting pattern Dorian had taught her and sent fireballs at the dragon. The staff split from the heat of the flames and the force of the magic Evelyn was pulling through, her emotions and fear amplifying the power of her magic. The mark on her hand had split open, but could barely be seen in the rapid fire movements she was doing.

Solas resumed healing and setting up barriers on their companions, particularly Cassandra, as the two women resumed their assault on the Greater Mistral. Cassandra’s blade was easily hacking through the charred scales of the dragon, and Evelyn’s flames were consistent, if not becoming decreasingly powerful as the pent up magic released and adrenaline disappeared to be replaced with a calmer mind.

Evelyn slammed her staff down onto the floor, sending jets of flame towards the Mistral. It was lagging now, struggling to beat its wings in attempt to bat away the flames. The air was full of the sounds of roaring and flickering flames, and the heat was almost unbearable. Smoke was rising from the burnt earth and the burning trees, and the smell of boiling flesh permeated the air.

It was Cassandra who delivered the killing blow. Solas was watching the display in morbid fascination, half of his attention on the fight and the other half on sending healing spells towards Varric and Dorian. The dwarf was starting to stir from his head injury, and it was easy to see the horror on his face as he registered the scene not far from where he’d fallen.

Evelyn created a deadly whip of fire and threw it at the dragon: it wrapped around its neck and burnt deep enough to penetrate the scales. Smoke rose from the wound, and the dragon gave a gurgling screech that was full of pain and defeat, an utterly miserable sound to those participating in its death. Cassandra took advantage of its lowered neck, and jammed her sword in deep into the wound left by the fire whip. Yanking it out as quickly as she could, Cassandra thrust the blade deep into the now-accessible forehead of the Greater Mistral. Evelyn heated the blade enough to blacken the metal, and Cassandra twisted it before letting go with a noise of pain.

The dragon slumped, falling forwards as life left it, and the ground shook with the weight of its body crashing to the floor.

* * *

“I think I need a new staff.”

Cassandra huffed a laugh at Evelyn’s words, holding her wrists gently as Evelyn tried to gather up the dregs of her mana to heal Cassandra’s blistered hands. The heat from the sword had penetrated through her gauntlets, and the woman was left with blistered hands and burned wrists. She was holding on to Evelyn’s wrists, the gold bracelets at the ready to be clasped if the spell started to go awry.

Evelyn’s staff was on the floor between them, charred and split at both ends from the flames and the magic it had channelled.

“I must admit the first explosion was impressive. We shall have to send word ahead to Josephine, however, so she can have an explanation ready to give to the Orlesian Court when they ask why we blasted a portion of their territory into charcoal.”

“Do you really think Orlais would be angry over this?”

“I know they will. Orlais is full of idiots, and I would not be surprised if the Inquisition is asked for some sort of compensation from whoever owns this part of the land.” Cassandra sounded unimpressed as she spoke, but Evelyn knew she was probably right.

Turning her attention to her attempts to heal Cassandra’s hands, Evelyn realised her magic felt brittle and weak, as though it were ready to snap and fade away. Cassandra must have noticed it too, for the bracelets snapped shut around her wrists a second later, and the older woman give her an apologetic look. Evelyn sagged in disappointment.

“I had hoped letting it all out would miraculously give me control over it again.”

“Sadly not.” Cassandra gave her a tight smile that had a curious edge of pity to it, and Evelyn shrugged her shoulders. “I will go and see if Solas has enough mana to soothe my burns. Do not worry about Dorian: Solas is confident he will pull through.”

Evelyn returned her smile, and then sighed when Cassandra turned and walked over to Solas. She pondered for a moment where she stood, looking down suspiciously at Dorian’s staff before she quickly bent to pick it up. Examining the sharp, thin blade on the end, Evelyn gave a thoughtful look over at the dragon.

Walking up to examine it, she took notice of the soft underbelly and the long thin line that ran down it. She hesitated for only a moment, hidden from her companions by the huge body of the dragon, and plunged the thin blade in at the area she suspected its stomach to be, then pulled it across with all of her strength.

Dorian’s staff was covered with blood and stomach acid as she yanked it across, but the flesh and muscle tore apart easily until she hit something solid. Evelyn worked the staff into it, before tugging the object towards her. Doing so allowed the stomach acid to spill out of the hole she had made, widened by the helmet that was on the end of the staff.

Evelyn took one look at the Inquisition helmet before she rolled up her sleeves, and shoved her arms into the stomach with a look of grim disgust on her face.

Varric appeared next to her the moment she did so, and the look on his face was a mixture of curiosity and utter horror. He sidestepped the puddle of congealed blood and stomach acid, and peered up at Evelyn.

“You’re disgusting, Sparks.”

“I am also solving the mystery of why we never attained full coordinates on where this dragon was. Also, Sparks? Too close to Dorian’s.” Now in deep enough that her shoulders were almost hidden from view, Evelyn rummaged around.

“I’m still working on it, but yeah you’re just a spark away from creating the biggest explosions I’ve ever seen.”

“Barring Kirkwall?”

“Barring Kirkwall.” Varric took a step back as Evelyn pulled, and neither of them looked particularly surprised when a half-dissolved corpse wearing Inquisition leathers made an appearance in the hole.

“Please don’t ask me to help you.”

“I would not dream of it, Varric.” Evelyn gave him a smile as she pried the hole open with Dorian’s staff, using her other hand to yank the corpse out with little resistance. It landed on the floor between them with a disgusting wet slap, and both of them looked down at it in silence.

“Poor bastard.”

“On the bright side, Harritt will be pleased to know that his armour is indeed acid-proof.”

“Argh!”

As Cassandra appeared from behind the dragon to check up on what Evelyn and Varric could be getting up to, all three of them froze at Cassandra’s shout of surprise. She took in the scene before her: Evelyn, up to her shoulders in bits of blood and tissue and prying open a wad of scales and muscle, and Varric, standing next to her, perfectly clean with a corpse at his feet.

“What is this? I left you alone for _ten minutes_.” Evelyn absently noticed that Cassandra’s accent became thicker when she was annoyed or incredulous, but pawed the corpse with her foot to point out the Inquisition symbol.

“I was finding our missing scout.”

“So you went rummaging through a _dragon?_ You will have burned yourself!” Cassandra grabbed Evelyn’s wrists to inspect her arms, before seeming to remember they were still covered in blood and promptly dropping them with a disgusted sound.

“My apologies, Cassandra.” Evelyn didn’t look the least bit apologetic, Varric noted with a grin.

“Ugh, go and clean yourself up, Inquisitor. And you too, dwarf.”

* * *

When Cullen entered the main hall in the early morning, over a month after the Inquisitor had left for the Emerald Graves, he wasn’t certain that he was not hallucinating the scene before him. He had had a restless night after all, tossing and turning in his sheets with nausea and the sweats even as the cold wind around Skyhold battered his tower.

To walk in and see Josephine standing next to a giant dragon skull and directing half a dozen workers on where to _put_ the damn thing, he was a little unsure if he was seeing reality. Their Ambassador was stood with a quill at the ready in one hand and her board in the other, surveying the wall to the left of the Inquisitor’s throne.

The dragon skull was an off-white colour, not entirely cleaned with small scorch marks between the eye sockets that alerted Cullen immediately to one little fact.

“Josephine, please tell me that this dragon was killed with our _uncontrollable, magically vulnerable Inquisitor_ miles away from the fight.” Cullen’s voice was tight, his headache pounding, and Josephine looked up at him with a small grin.

“Leliana will leave the report on your desk this afternoon, Commander.”

“Oh Maker. Who authorised her to clean the skull?”

“That would be me, Commander.” Cullen felt sheepish as he turned to look at Cassandra, who had approached and stood beside him with her arms crossed over her chest. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah, I presume you took the proper precautions, Seeker?”

“We did, Cullen. Solas and Dorian helped control the direction of her magic. Also, she wished to see you once you awoke.”

“She did? I mean, whatever for?” Cullen felt his face flush when Cassandra raised a brow at him for turning to her so quickly, but the Seeker brushed it off in favour of promptness.

“The lyrium withdrawal plan that you failed to tell me about. Along with the fact that you were even _back_ on lyrium in the first place.”

Cullen apologetically stammered an excuse to the formidable woman, unsure if he liked the feeling of mild disappointment that was emanating from her. Unsure if it was for his failure to tell her or the fact that he had relapsed at all, Cullen quickly made his getaway and stormed towards the door to Evelyn’s quarters.

* * *

When he entered the Inquisitor’s bedroom (after a positive response to his knocking, of course), he was reminded of her beauty, something he had been able to ignore for the previous months. Evelyn was moving around her room without paying much attention to him coming up the stairs, placing items from her pack into their respective drawers and taking out ingredients to be placed on her desk. Barefoot, she was wearing a dark blue dress that was probably a left-over from her tranquil days: it was loose enough to not be restrictive, but lacked anything that could get in the way of work, such as flowing sleeves or multiple skirts and layers. Blonde hair fell around her shoulders, let loose from the tight bun she wore when in the field but a kinked mess now due to it being released from its binding.

Cullen cleared his throat when she turned to smile at him, hating the once unfamiliar feeling of attraction stirring in his stomach. It had been so much easier to ignore her beauty when she was cold and unfeeling; now, with her sending warm smiles his way and acting like the animated, breathing _person_ that she now was, it was difficult to keep feelings from developing.

“Inquisitor? I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Ah, Cullen! Take a seat, I am just searching for some more ingredients for my poultices.”

Cullen did as he was bid, walking over to her desk and sitting in the chair opposite it. The desk was covered with ingredients: Evelyn had clearly been busy since she arrived back in the early hours of the morning. A small, full cauldron sat in the centre of her desk, and empty bottles ready to be filled were lined up next to it. On the far side lay a letter, obviously written before Evelyn left for the Emerald Graves, as there was no quill or ink pot to be found near him.

As Evelyn sat opposite him with a ladle in one hand and a fist full of elfroot in the other, Cullen motioned to the letter.

“If you needed that sending without Leliana seeing it, you could have brought it to me.”

Evelyn glanced over at it in confusion, before giving a knowing smile.

“Ah, thank you Cullen but I have not finished writing it yet.”

“Inquisition business?”

“Not quite.” Evelyn picked up a small empty glass bottle, and dunked the ladle into the cauldron. “It is a letter to my mother. I have not spoken to her since a year after I became tranquil.”

Cullen nodded as Evelyn handed him the empty bottle: without needing to be asked, he picked up the stopper and plugged it, placing it back into the rack. “Were you close?”

“Very close, up until I chose Tranquility. The last time we spoke, she asked me why I was so cold. I told her that I no longer had the capability to love her, and never would again.”

Cullen wanted to squeeze her arm in comfort at the sad look on her face, but instead took the next bottle from Evelyn.

“I’m sure she understood, Inquisitor. Tranquility is difficult for the families left behind, something I had not realised for a very long time. Nevertheless, I’m sure the Knight-Commander of your Circle explained it to your mother.” He wasn’t sure, in fact he was fairly certain it was the opposite, but he could hardly _tell_ her that.

Evelyn’s responding smile was more of a grimace. “Even so, Commander, I do not think my mother has received news about the reversal of my Tranquility. If we fail, if Corypheus defeats us, I do not want to die knowing the last words my mother ever heard from me were that I did not love her.”

The small silence that followed was tense and a little awkward, and Cullen tried to find another topic of conversation whilst he stoppered the next bottle.

“You’ve been busy, Inquisitor. Have you not slept since you returned from the Graves this morning?”

“I did not need to. I took a potion to keep me awake before Cassandra could stop me. I do not like going into the fade in my dreams: it is an experience I have not had in so long that it unsettles me.”

Cullen could sympathise with that, he thought. He knew all too well the fear of slipping into the fade, the pattern of lying in bed and praying for a dreamless sleep, even if his reasons for not wanting to enter the fade were far, far darker and different to her own.

“I have several spare potions to induce dreamless sleep in my quarters, courtesy of Dorian, if you wish to have a few. I am better at controlling my nightmares, and they may help you sleep.” He wasn’t better at controlling them, and he in fact had about three left, but Cullen knew that if he asked Dorian nicely enough on a day that he had bathed then the other man would likely make more for him. But Evelyn merely shook her head at him with a smile.

“No Commander, I thank you for that offer but you need them far more than I do. And speaking of potions, I did not ask you here to talk about myself. How is the lyrium withdrawal?”

If Cullen was a little unnerved at how she immediately pulled a piece of parchment, a quill and an ink pot from her desk drawer and held it at the ready, he was proud of the fact that he did not show it.

“As you predicted, Inquisitor, I am at the stage I was prior to my relapse. I am taking the quarter dose every three days, as your written instructions bid me to do.”

“And any symptoms?” Evelyn's quill was scratching quickly onto the parchment. Cullen briefly felt like he was being interrogated by a healer, before he realised that Evelyn had been one before her Tranquility.

“The usual. Headaches, nausea, nightmares, dizziness, amongst others.”

“Nothing that you’ve not experienced before?”

“Not _yet_.”

Evelyn’s smile was sympathetic, and even though it irked him slightly Cullen gave her one in response. She picked up the three bottles he had stoppered for her, and handed them to him. They clinked in his gauntleted hand, but he held them carefully with a questioning look on his face.

“They are for your symptoms. When you feel them coming on, take a mouthful, but no more than that an hour. Do _not_ take it the same day you take the quarter dose, and do _not_ take it all at once: doing either of these will result in you emptying the contents of your stomach into the nearest basin. I cannot guarantee it will the stop the headaches or the light sensitivity, but it should help everything else.”

Cullen threw her a look at the last sentence, wondering how she knew about the light sensitivity. She gave him a shrug in response, a knowing grin on her face.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. This last month has been difficult, but knowing that I had the strength to try again has done much for me. That you have enabled me to do this means more than you know.” Cullen stood as he spoke, his voice sincere and his eyes warm as he looked into Evelyn’s. She was looking up at him in something akin to admiration, and he felt his attraction spark. It was almost as though he felt a lever pull without being able to control it: Cullen _knew_ he was doomed in that moment.

“It is no trouble and no problem, Commander. I… admire your determination and your strength. Before I came to Skyhold, I had never heard of any documented cases of a templar going through withdrawal and surviving the first month, let alone several months as you had. I have certainly never heard of templar willingly going back through it after a relapse. You are brave, and I am… proud to be your Inquisitor.”

Cullen did not really know _what_ to say to that: it was spoken with raw and unrestrained emotion, and he knew she meant every word of it: he felt she would have had the same sentiment if she could control her emotions.

Cullen stammered out a thank you, a blush rising high on his cheeks in a way that made Evelyn smile warmly at him. He took his leave to that smile, and was at the bottom of the stairs to her room when he heard her footsteps. Her head appeared over the bannister above him, her hair dangling down, and he smiled at her as she grinned.

“Commander? Do you mind if I ask you to teach me how to play chess once more?”

His responding smile warmed her insides.

“Not at all, Evelyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness in posting this chapter. I had intended to finish and post it before xmas, but sadly my grandma passed away the morning of the 23rd and it's been a little hard to get back into this. But I have my ideas back, so hopefully the next chapter shouldn't be far off, barring the university essay I need to write in the next week.
> 
> Hope you guys like it, and I hope the writing doesn't seem too strained!


	6. Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw I've hit 100 Kudos! Thanks so much guys!! :D I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

The Inquisitor had taken to sitting in his office during the evening. Evelyn had claimed that no one would expect to find her there and she could fill out reports and continue her healing studies without anyone interrupting her, and Cullen had to admit it worked: Josephine burst into his office the third evening shouting that the Inquisitor was missing, only to find the blonde woman curled up in a chair next to the door. And he didn’t _mind_ that the Inquisitor spent her evenings with him, for the kitchens sent up her evening meal once Josephine realised it was going to be a common occurrence, and that invariably meant that _he_ was at least getting one meal a day. His lyrium withdrawal was bad, and Evelyn had cut him down to one fifth of his original dosage once a week, but it meant that he was working to ignore the headaches and thus skipping his regular meals.

Having Evelyn in his office did wonders to their friendship, however: they chatted every so often, asking questions about the other and generally getting to know each other better. She made him laugh, even if her humour was beginning to turn dry and sarcastic like Cassandra’s, and more than once he had caught a pink blush on her cheeks in the light of the lantern at her feet. It was becoming harder and harder to deny that he had a physical attraction to the woman, but Cullen knew he could repress it and keep it at bay as long as it remained purely physical.

That was getting difficult, however. Evelyn would arrive into his office after her evening bath, usually in a winter dress with wet hair that he would watch slowly curl as the hours passed and her hair dried. He was beginning to associate the smell of pracaxi with Evelyn, and the scent lingered in his office for days after she would leave for field work. He noticed, when she left for the Emprise du Lion for the second time in three weeks, he would catch the faintest whiff of her hair and would _miss_ the conversation she offered, and the sight of her awkward smile.

Today, however, was the sixth day since his last dose of lyrium, and his head was _pounding_. He felt like he was sitting in the centre of the orchestra at one of those ridiculous Orlesian operas; only the slightest shuffle from Evelyn was enough to make him wince. Her lantern was so bright, but when he tried to keep his eyes focused on his parchment that only made him squint more, and suddenly everything Evelyn did was irritating. Just looking at her was annoying him: she was sprawled across the chair, leaning against one arm of it with her legs swung over the other arm, her parchment resting against her knees with her quill in her mouth. It annoyed him; how was that even practical or conducive to work? Surely her quill would stab straight through the parchment? Was her back not hurting?

And for the love of Andraste, _why_ was she humming?

Cullen clenched his teeth with every note of that _damned_ Samson song that left her, the tune grating against his nerves as the words inadvertently went through his mind.

Her humming hit a high note, and the nib of Cullen’s quill crushed against the parchment.

“Maker’s breath, will you please _shut up_.”

Evelyn silenced immediately, and for a moment he saw a reaction similar to that of the Tranquil in the Gallows, when they would turn away in instinctual fear at the sharp bark of a Templar. But in a moment she overcame it, and furrowed her brows at him with a frown on her lips.

“Excuse me?”

“I have a headache, and your _humming_ is grating on my last nerve.” Cullen hated how irritated he sounded; there was a part of him that was screaming for his mouth to shut before he said something awful to Evelyn. As it was, she sat upright in her chair and looked at him in offense.

“Well my apologies, but I did not realise I was doing it.”

“How do you focus on your work when you’re humming that infernal song? Because I certainly can’t.” Cullen was pulling at his hair in frustration at her, and Evelyn stood up and took an angry step towards his desk.

“Because I allow myself to relax, I do not sit _hunched_ over my desk all day every day with a foul look on my face. You look like a sloth demon took a shit in your mouth.”

If Cullen hadn’t been so _angry_ and irate he would have burst out laughing; was that a glimpse of the old Evelyn coming through, or the result of her spending too much time with Sera? Evelyn took another step closer, throwing her papers onto his desk. “And besides, I _enjoy_ humming after spending nearly a decade not caring enough about life to do it!”

Cullen scoffed at her.

“Oh please, don’t use your Tranquility as an excuse for your annoying habits.” Oh and he was immediately regretting saying that; Evelyn’s eyebrows furrowed into the first look of pure anger he had ever seen on her face.

“Really, because this is the first time you have complained!”

“I was being polite.”

“No, you are being a pompous arsehole.”

“No one wants to listen to that infernal humming of yours, let alone that Maker be damned song.”

Childishly, Evelyn tipped over his ink pot onto his reports, ruining several pages of parchment. Cullen stood up then, his hands on his desk mirroring her position. They were in each other’s faces, and Cullen could feel the sharp breath blowing out from her nostrils as she clenched her teeth. After a moment of intense glares, Evelyn threw her hands up and stepped back.

“I’m not dealing with this: come talk to me when you’ve had your next lyrium fix and have calmed the fuck down.”

Cullen slammed his fist down onto the desk as the door to his office slammed shut behind Evelyn. He slammed it down again, using the pain as a distraction from the immediate regret that took hold of him when the door closed.

* * *

Cullen was holed up in his office for the next two days, staying inside as much as possible and giving thanks to the Maker that Leliana had not called a war council. He was trying to think of a way to apologise since about five minutes after Evelyn had slammed his door, but he could not bulk up the courage to just go to her room and apologise when _she_ had said some nasty stuff as well as he.

He hated his stubborn pride, however, when Evelyn knocked on his door the evening of the second day, and proved herself the bigger person. She entered his office with a calm look on her face and a plate of cold meat and buttered bread, and all but threw the plate on top of his (salvaged) reports.

“Eat.”

“No, thank you, I have eaten today.” Cullen did not look up from the piece of parchment he was writing on, but Evelyn pushed the plate on top of it the moment he lifted his quill up.

“Some soup and an apple does not equal three meals a day. Eat, before you collapse.”

Sighing, Cullen finally looked up and took a slice of bread from the plate; it was still warm, and had the softness of a freshly baked loaf. An awkward silence descended upon them as he chewed; Evelyn’s eyes were hard and directed at him. Finally, she cleared her throat and lifted her chin.

“I am sorry. My comment about the lyrium was out of line and uncalled for. I should not have made such a negative comment when you are desperately and bravely trying to be rid of your addiction to the stuff.”

Cullen swallowed thickly, both thankful for the apology but also cursing that she was clearly less stubborn than he: now _he_ felt awful considering he started the whole argument.

“And I… am sorry for becoming so angry for irrational reasons. I could have asked you to stop in a polite way, and I am sorry for that.”

The silence descended on them again as Cullen chewed his meal, though less heavy than it had been originally. Evelyn was smiling, and there was a relief on her face that he was sure was mirrored on his own.

After a moment, Cullen smiled.

“You used a contraction.”

“Excuse me?” Evelyn cocked her head at him, confused.

“When you were shouting, you used a contraction.”

“I did? Well, I also used some rather colourful words that I did not realise I was saying either, so I am not surprised.” Evelyn examined her nails to avoid looking up at him, but Cullen felt his smile widening a little. They sat in silence for a minute or two more, before Evelyn looked up at him again.

“Cole tells me that my outburst was… good for me. He says that the more extreme the emotion I inadvertently let loose, the easier it will be to control them. He says I need to experience the emotions and become familiar with them once more.”

“Then I am very happy to have helped you experience anger once again.” His tone was dry as he finished off the last bit of meat on the plate, but Evelyn chuckled at him.

“I’m sure, Commander.” She stood, taking his plate and replacing its place on his desk with a brand new quill. When he raised his brow in question to her, she shrugged. “I knew you had spare ink pots in your office, but I have noticed for a while now that your quill is falling apart.”

“Is this not one of Josephine’s?”

Evelyn had the grace to look sheepish.

“She has an entire drawer full of them, I did not think she would miss _one_. Or two.”

Cullen shook his head and chuckled at that, and Evelyn’s happy smile was enough to make him wonder why _he_ hadn’t gone crawling to her to apologise first. Evelyn turned on her heel to leave, feeling lighter than she had when she entered, when Cullen spoke up.

“Inquisitor… if you would like to, you are more than welcome to bring your work down here for the evening.”

Evelyn’s grin nearly split her face it was so wide, and she nodded her head in assent before gently closing the door behind her. Cullen felt sick to his stomach; he recognised the feeling immediately, and groaned when he realised he was falling hard, and falling _fast._

* * *

“I am attracted to you.”

Falling from his fingers, the chess piece hit the table, bounced off, and shattered on the floor.

“I… _what_?”

Cullen’s face flooded red with the strength of his blush as Evelyn’s words sunk in, spoken freely and as blasé as if she had been commenting on the sunny evening weather. The weather that made his blush visible, and made it burn more in the last wisps of sunlight. Evelyn clucked her tongue at the shattered glass chess piece on the floor and sat back in her seat.

“Do not panic, Commander. I have a theory as to why.”

“You have a _theory_.” His own tone was bland, and he was stunned more than anything at the _abruptness_ of her confession. It had been three months since their argument, and in that time they had developed their friendship even more. Evelyn still had to leave every few weeks for field duty, and although she spent most of her time at Skyhold training with Dorian and Solas, she had tried to schedule regular chess games with him to develop a relationship that did not revolve around Inquisition business or his lyrium addiction.

Cullen couldn’t lie; his attraction to her was growing every day, but he willed it away as a purely physical attraction: he could not, in good faith, _tell_ her he was attracted to her when her personality was still developing, when the Evelyn who returned to Skyhold was different each time. Bolder, more confident in herself and more willing to express herself, but still different enough that he feared her returning one day with a personality he would suddenly clash with.

But for the love of the Maker, he never expected _her_ to develop an attraction.

“Yes, I have a theory. Would you like to hear it?”

Cullen blinked, stunned.

“How can you be… _attracted_ to me, you don’t ha-“ He snapped his jaw shut, his blush darkening in mortification as Evelyn raised a delicate eyebrow. Her face was smooth and her expression cool, lips pursed with that one eyebrow raised at him.

“I do not have emotions? That was true, six months ago.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to imply that. I mean, I just…” He ran his hand across his face with a sigh, sitting back in his own seat and levelling his gaze at her. “You are not the only one here with an attraction to the other. I noticed my own that day we fought in my office.”

At that _Evelyn_ blushed, a dark tint spreading across her cheeks as she stiffened in the chair, and Cullen felt a dread settle in his stomach as she lowered her head sadly.

“Ah… perhaps you should have let me explain myself, first.” At those words, Cullen pinched the skin between his eyes and gave her a nod to let her continue. Now he was mortified, and realised he had probably just ruined their professional relationship _and_ their friendship.

“I meant to tell you that I have been attracted to you for a while, Cullen. But I know within myself that it is only because my emotions have returned so quickly and all at once, and that my idea of romance has latched on to you as the most attractive man of my acquaintance.” Sitting up straight, Evelyn fiddled with the gold bracelets on her wrists, a frown on her face. Those words felt _wrong_ , but she could not focus on _why_ they felt wrong.

Cullen’s face got redder as she spoke, his own mortification setting in as he looked at her, at the conflict on her face and the suddenly nervous way in which she was fidgeting.

“Why would you tell me this, if you weren’t hoping for a similar confession?” Indignation rose up in him alongside his embarrassment, and annoyance reared its ugly head inside him. He’d had a very long day, his head had been pounding all through the war room meeting and the hours of work inside his office: he had only begun to calm down as their chess game had commenced. His headache had been dissipating and his bad mood almost disappeared entirely, and then Evelyn had to go ahead and do _this_.

“I thought you knew I had felt this: you were becoming distant, and I thought I was making you uncomfortable, so I wished to stop that. I did not think you held a similar attraction.”

The wind blew through the courtyard, tousling her damp blonde hair, heavy and dark after her evening bath. Her skin was flushed from the cool air and her own blush, but even with her frown and downcast eyes Cullen wanted to make her feel better, to make her send a smile his way. He acknowledged to himself, not for the first time, that his attraction _was_ more than just physical, but it was held back by the _fear_ that Evelyn had not yet recovered from Tranquility. And now, here in the garden with no one around but the occasional guard, she had admitted she was attracted to him and in the same conversation told him it was false, that it was a by-product of her emotional turmoil. Though she had not confirmed it, the implication that she would not feel any attraction otherwise hovered on his mind.

“Perhaps you should not have told me this.” Cullen felt his headache returning, felt his heart closing off and willing him to _leave_ before this situation could get any worse.

“Cullen, I’m sorry, I didn’t think…” Evelyn was using contractions again, something he was beginning to realise she did when she was speaking without thinking, desperate to get her words out. Cullen only shook his head at her.

“No, I am sorry, I should have let you explain yourself first. I would rather have a day or two to myself, Inquisitor-“

“Wait, no please. I… that was wrong, I don’t feel _right_ , the false part…”

Cullen closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, calming himself down and trying to push away the impending headache. When he opened them, he looked in her eyes and saw utter confusion in their depths.

“So you _don’t_ think it’s false?”

Evelyn’s voice was quiet when she responded, and she looked down at her hands nervously.

“I- I do not know.”

“Then I would rather we shelve this discussion until you do. We’re in the middle of a war, and you cannot afford any distractions.”

“No, Cullen-“

He cut her off with an apologetic look on his face.

“Apologies Inquisitor, but I’d like a day to myself to think on this.”

“I’m leaving for the Western Approach tomorrow. We will be travelling straight from there to the Winter Palace.”

“Then I’ll see you at the Winter Palace, Inquisitor.” He grimaced at that, the thought of his horribly tight outfit for the ball making him wince.

He gave her a tight smile and a polite nod of the head, before standing up and leaving her in the garden. Evelyn watched him go, her heart beating fast inside her chest and regret rising up inside her so fast she wanted to vomit. The reality of her careless confession, when even she was not certain of its truthfulness, had potentially destroyed her friendship with her Commander and eradicated any chance of an actual relationship if her feelings turned out to be true.

Evelyn abruptly stood up when she heard the sound of the door to Skyhold’s main chamber shutting, and she walked quickly hoping to make amends or _something_. But when she reached the main hall, he was already gone from it, and Evelyn pushed down a sob as she fled to her quarters.

* * *

 

When the Inquisitor's party left for the Western Approach in the early hours of the following morning, only Skyhold's skeleton staff were awake. Evelyn had wanted to chase Cullen down and confront him in his office, but she had no certainties in her mind or her emotions, and she did not want to make the situation any worse. Looking up at his window as they left Skyhold, however, made her heart clench in guilt and sadness. He was awake; the light from his tower was shining brightly in the darkness of the early morning, and when Evelyn glanced back during her conversation with Cassandra she swore she saw a shadow in the window before it disappeared. 

Evelyn would not chase after him if he did not want her to, but leaving Skyhold with a heavy and uncertain heart, she knew she had made a terrible mistake.


	7. The Ball

“You did _what_?”

The sound of a wet rag slapping off wet skin rung through the air, making a sickly sound as it hit Evelyn's leg and fell to the floor. Cassandra had thrown the rag at her when she confided in the romantic woman what had occurred on their last day in Skyhold. The two women were bathing, taking the last opportunity to do so before their next few days of travelling would lead them out of the forest and across dry plains towards the hot, desert region of the Western Approach.

“I _told_ you, I-“

“No, I know _what_ you did. I want to know why. Why would you do that to the Commander?”

The rag was picked up and whipped at her arms, and Evelyn lowered her hand from where it was aimed at the small waterfall with a threatening look on her face.

“Do that again and I will stop heating this water. You can bathe in the freezing cold.”

“You would not dare.” The look Cassandra threw at her was enough to freeze the water without Evelyn’s help, and Evelyn backed down with a smile.

“Apologies. And I do not know _why_ , I just did. It seemed like the correct thing to do, in case he thought I was genuinely in love with him.”

“Oh you are insufferable. Could you not tell the Commander has feelings for you?” Evelyn’s magic faltered at those words, and Cassandra leapt away from the waterfall with a noise that was half a grunt, half a screech.

“Sorry, I think I misheard you.”

“Oh please, he looks at you like… like…” Cassandra trailed off, trying to think of a phrase that Evelyn would understand. The woman in question merely raised a brow at her.

“Like I’m the Herald of Andraste?”

Cassandra batted a hand in her direction, turning away from Evelyn and pulling the front of her cotton wrap open to wash her chest.

“Well, yes, only it is different.”

“He looks at me like everyone else does, yet it is different?”

“You know what I mean, Inquisitor. You know I cannot express what I mean quite so eloquently as Varric.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“And if you do I will employ Sera as a matchmaker.” Cassandra’s face was deadly serious as she turned back around, and Evelyn had to give a nervous laugh to dispel the sudden tension. There was a silence between them, broken only when Cassandra gave Evelyn another serious look.

“What are you thinking, Inquisitor?”

 Evelyn did not respond immediately, and the silence between the two women stretched on as Evelyn chewed at her lip, a newly resurfaced habit that she had lost once she had taken on tranquility. Her lips were not thankful.

“I am thinking… I think I was wrong. I do not _love_ Cullen, but…” From her place on the rock, Evelyn pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees, momentarily forgetting about Cassandra and the heated water. She knew she did not _love_ the Commander, but everything about their conversation had felt so _wrong_. Her heart had felt as though she were shredding it, and every word out of her mouth had pushed the knife in deeper as she pulled her heart in two directions.

Cassandra jumped back with a hiss, and Evelyn looked up in alarm to see the water was steaming. Cassandra’s lower back and shoulders were red with welts and forming blisters, and Evelyn jumped down from her place on the rock.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t think!”

“Clearly! No do not _touch –_ ow!” Cassandra’s yelp was loud enough to be heard back at the campsite, and Evelyn prayed their companions did not investigate. The sight of the two women, wearing only their cotton undergarments, would probably have Varric and Sera teasing them for _weeks_ , especially if both were spotted under the waterfall together.

The waterfall that she had heated up to well past boiling point, Evelyn thought wryly as she placed cold and healing hands onto Cassandra’s shoulders.  

* * *

“Please.”

“No.”

Josephine did not even look up after Cullen’s impassioned speech, and the only sound for a few moments was the scratching of her quill and the crackling of the fireplace behind her. Cullen shifted.

“Josephine you know I don’t like politics, and I don’t even like most of the people attending. There is absolutely _nothing_ that I would bring to the Winter Palace that someone like Rylen could not, in my place.”

“No.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“…No.” Josephine looked apologetic as she looked up then, her face full of guilt but her eyes hard: Cullen could not change her mind. Josephine folded up the letter she had been writing and placed it into a cream envelope, sealing it with wax.

“Josephine, please!”

“I am not going to change my mind, Commander. You are the Commander of our army and so you _must_ be present.” Josephine lifted up various wooden stamps, before settling on the official Inquisition one and stamping it down hard onto the wax.

“And besides,” Josephine started, placing the letter into a tray, “Aren’t you excited to see the Inquisitor again? This is the longest she has been away from Skyhold. It will have been three months by the time we are all at the Winter Palace!”

“I’m well aware, Josephine, believe me.”

He did not know if it was the tone of his voice, or merely the words themselves, but Josephine snapped her attention on to him so quickly it was almost eerie.

“Oh? Did something happen between you?” Whatever was on Josephine’s mind was clearly something _positive_ , Cullen thought with a bitter frown. She folded her hands beneath her chin and rested on them, a curious smile on her face that looked odd with the quill still sticking out between her forefinger and thumb.

“No! Why does everyone in this keep have such a vested interest in my love life?” Cullen ran a hand over his face, but as he did so he caught a guilty look flash across Josephine’s.

“Well…”

“No, not you as well, Josephine.” At the look on her face Cullen turned, throwing a glare at the fireplace before marching off towards the war room. Josephine stood up from her chair as he stormed through the door, and her voice echoed through the passage to the war room.

“Varric coerced me into it!”

* * *

Evelyn looked towards the gates of the Winter Palace nervously, feeling her airways constrict at the sight of so much _splendour_ in one place, laid out before her. Dozens of people in the most gorgeous gowns she had ever seen were milling around outside the entrance to the palace, and she knew that there were probably hundreds more in the foyer and ballroom.

“Beautiful isn't it, my dear? Oh, it’s been so long since I was last here.”

Evelyn was certain that it couldn’t have been more than a year since Vivienne was last at the Winter Palace, but she wisely kept her mouth shut and followed the older woman with apprehension. Her skirts swayed as she moved, and Evelyn had a suspicion that Leliana had tightened it far too much on purpose to keep her posture correct.

Josephine and Vivienne had initially designed the red gown she was wearing, fitting it with a heavy crinoline and taffeta skirt, and a corseted waist with the most ridiculous trumpet sleeves Evelyn had ever seen. Leliana had overseen the fitting in their lodgings with a critical eye and plotting look on her face, and Evelyn had not been surprised when she was roused from her sleep at three in the morning by the gleeful woman.

Leliana had led her through the manor house bequeathed to her by Lady Cecile with a finger on her lips, and they had entered a room Evelyn could only imagine was the dead woman’s old dressing room.

Once Evelyn had been shoved into the dress, Leliana had immediately got to work in the dim candlelight. The crinoline hoop was the first to go, along with two of the layers of taffeta. Evelyn was left standing there wearing a very limp dress as Leliana hid the hoop behind a curtain and returned with a bundle of Inquisition-red charmeuse. The final layer of taffeta was stripped as Leliana replaced the entire skirt with several layers of the charmeuse. By the time the redheaded woman was finished with it, the sun was beginning to rise and Evelyn was no longer weighed down by unnecessarily heavy fabric.

If Evelyn had been entirely honest, she could not tell the difference on sight between the original and the altered.

In a moment that had shocked her, Leliana then detached the entire skirt from the bodice and ordered her to return to bed. Evelyn had thought that the last of it, until Leliana returned for her in the early hours of the next morning and ordered her to put the trousers and boots of her leather armour on before dragging her back to the dressing room.

“I took it to a seamstress yesterday and had her replace the metal in the corset with dragon bone. I managed to persuade her to reinforce the front panel with it too.” Leliana had explained as she tied Evelyn into the damned thing, and Evelyn could only grunt in acknowledgement as Leliana took a look at her.

It was only then that Evelyn realised the entire bodice of the dress had been sewn onto the corset, with the ghastly sleeves removed altogether and replaced with gentle, relatively flat and plain off-shoulder puff sleeves. Looking in the mirror, Evelyn thought she made an odd picture with her plain, brown leather trousers, greaves and boots and the fancy, red corset bodice of the dress.

With a grin, Leliana had then picked the missing red skirt up from the chair and pulled it around Evelyn, tying it at the small of her back with a sea-blue ribbon that had been stitched on to it, most likely to hide the fact that the skirt had been detached from the bodice _and_ that it was no longer a whole skirt. The trim of the skirt was also sea-blue, which Evelyn suspected was a direct match to the coloured sash on everyone else's outfits.

Leliana then turned Evelyn so she could see in the mirror what Leliana did next; the redhead leant down and made the skirt whole by pushing several clear buttons through their respective holes down the length of Evelyn’s dress.

“There we go!” Leliana had spun her back around with a strength Evelyn was not expecting, and the blonde woman remembered being stunned at the sight in the mirror before her. With the exception of the missing sleeves and the ribbon belt, the dress looked utterly unaltered but was much lighter. Leliana had explained to her the reasoning behind the alterations whilst demonstrating how to get out of the dress.

“Josie will go insane when she realises what we have done to it, but you could not go to the Winter Palace in that _awful_ dress. Now, I will give Cullen the coat from your leather armour when he arrives this afternoon, and he will keep it hidden in the palace. If you suspect things are going to come to blows, you untie the ribbon, pull the skirt around and undo the buttons, _hand it to Cullen so you don’t ruin it_ , and put your leather coat on. With the reinforced corset, it should be the same amount of protection as you’re used to.”

“So I get to keep my leathers, greaves and boots on underneath?”

“Yes. I tried to find some nicer leather boots, but boots were last season.” Leliana had looked put out at that, and remained silent as Evelyn pulled her nightgown back on. They had put the gown back into the storage room with the other outfits for the ball, and the two women had snuck back to their rooms with satisfaction.

And now here she was, standing before the Winter Palace with a dress much lighter than it had been on its original fitting, comfortable in the fact that she had a way to quickly get out of the damned thing if an attack were to commence. The puffed sleeves came off a delicate sweetheart neckline, and the bodice was much better fitted than it had been originally. The ribbons that tightened the corset and pulled the bodice together were on the outside of the dress for easy loosening, and Leliana had modified it enough to give it an A-line silhouette, flaring from her hips outward to hide the fact that she was wearing leathers underneath. It had been further modified since Evelyn had last seen it; gold beading had been stitched into the bodice in intricate patterns to stop it from looking plain, and the final effect was quite eye-catching. Overall, it was much more comfortable than when she was trapped in a crinoline hoop.

On her wrists lay the beautiful gold bangles that were so good at inhibiting her magic.

And Evelyn had to admit, when she saw herself in the mirror with the Inquisition-red dress and her blonde hair pulled up into an Orlesian twist, she appreciated her beauty in a way she had not been able to since before her Tranquility.

Evelyn had hoped that the efforts of Josephine, Leliana and Vivienne would help her to catch the eye of a certain Commander that evening, but she had yet to even see Cullen. Evelyn had been looking forward to his arrival the day before the ball, but Cullen had arrived quietly with some of his best officers, and so Evelyn had not actually been told when he had arrived. By the time she knew he was in Lady Cecile’s manor, he had managed to hide himself away from _everyone,_ though Josephine claimed it was because she had all but forced him into attending the event and he was off ‘sulking.’

“My dear, get that scowl off of your face. And stop _slouching_ , you and I both know that dress is nowhere near heavy enough for you to be walking like that.”

At Vivienne’s sharp rebuke, Evelyn straightened her posture so quickly her back cracked. The frown on the other woman’s face made Evelyn feel as though she were a little girl again, sitting in her parlour taking lessons from her mother on how to be a good and proper lady.

As the gates opened before them, Evelyn slowed her pace in order to lag behind and enter with Cassandra. The older woman had steadfastly refused to wear a dress, and Josephine had eventually relented and allowed her to wear the same garment that Solas, Sera and the advisors were wearing.

The red of Evelyn’s dress matched the red of their jackets, and she gave Cassandra a scowl when the woman greeted her with a smirk.

“You do look nice, Inquisitor.”

“Why did you get away with not wearing a dress? Why did they have to shove me into one?”

“You are our Inquisitor. As Josephine would say, they need to see you at your very best, and that means following their standards.” Cassandra gave the gown a once over; she could not hide the look of distaste from her face, but Evelyn only laughed at it and shook her head.

“I’m surprised they’re all able to breathe, no wonder the Orlesians are prone to fainting.”

Cassandra’s only response was a humoured grunt, and so Evelyn took the opportunity to give a searching look behind them. Any glint of hope that may have been in her eyes faded when she failed to see any sign of ruddy blond hair in her entourage.

When Cassandra noticed what she was doing she pulled Evelyn’s arm to link into her own and pulled the other woman closer. Evelyn was surprised, but then Cassandra started to speak in a low tone.

“You must stop, if the Orlesians see you searching desperately for Cullen they will gain an advantage.” Cassandra released her as the soldiers lining the entrance saluted their Inquisitor, and cleared her throat before taking on her authoritative voice. “Inquisitor, I will go and join the Commander in the foyer.”

“Of course, I hope you enjoy the party.” The smirk on Evelyn’s face gave away just how little fun she expected Cassandra to have, but when Cassandra gave her one in kind Evelyn was stunned enough not to realise _why_ until the Duke was almost upon her.

Evelyn was sorely tempted to rip the skirt off and flee when Gaspard wound her arm through his and made it his personal mission to escort her into the palace.

* * *

Evelyn was walking through the foyer, her entire body alert, when she finally spotted Cullen.

She had been wandering around for five minutes, politely pretending to take in the décor whilst she searched, when she noticed him at the top of the staircase talking to Cassandra and facing her. He was wearing the same style of outfit as Cassandra, though on a second glance it was _much_ more tightly fitted. He hadn’t changed much in the three months since she had seen him last, with his typical stubble short enough to not warrant shaving, though he _had_ lost some weight.

Evelyn realised she must have attracted some looks, for she was stood there not six metres from him with one hand on the pillar beside her, refusing to move but staring at the Commander of her army with wonder on her face. How had she ignored how handsome he was?

Her stomach was doing flips as she looked over at him, feeling shame and sadness battling it out inside her with hope and that too-familiar ache of attraction. How could she have been so _stupid_ as to think her feelings for this man were false? And she’d ruined it so foolishly!

Half-heartedly waving away a servant girl with a tray of drinks, Evelyn examined him from where she was and noticed that his eyes were hard; the dark circles hinted that he’d had very little sleep the last few days, but there was something about the way he was looking determinedly at Cassandra that seemed odd.

It hit her hard when she realised he _knew_ she was there, and that he was keeping his gaze fixed on Cassandra to stop himself from looking up at her. Evelyn realised he had probably known she was there from the moment she came up the stairs still linking arms with Gaspard. He was fiddling with his gloves as he spoke to Cassandra and, from the tense set of his jaw and his furrowed brows, Evelyn knew he was uncomfortably thinking of the moment they would have to interact.

Perhaps if she could get to him, to find a way to _talk_ to him without giving away anything the Orlesians could twist to their advantage, she could try to explain her feelings to him in a way that conveyed her regret and grief. She’d had plenty of time in the Western Approach to sort her feelings out, after all.

Her suspicion that Cullen knew she was there all along was confirmed when she took a determined step towards him; his eyes lifted to meet her own and she stopped where she was, stunned.

There was no fear or apprehension in his eyes, and nothing from his now-rigid posture gave away any sense of discomfort. But by the Maker, his gaze _burned_.

Moving to take another step, Evelyn’s efforts were halted when Josephine appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and dragged her over to the doors to the ballroom. Evelyn was forced into another conversation with Duke Gaspard, and was listening to him witter on about the scandal they would make entering the ballroom together when she heard Josephine speaking behind her.

“Yes, Cullen, you stand here with Leliana, you need to be announced as well.”

Evelyn felt herself straighten automatically, and the butterflies in her stomach became so bad she felt she could vomit. She could _feel_ his eyes burning into her from where he was stood behind her, and all of a sudden her legs felt weak and unstable as a shiver raced down her spine.

Gaspard led them into the ballroom and released her arm as he was announced, and Evelyn stood there awkwardly whilst she waited for her turn, not knowing what to do but wishing to turn around and look at Cullen. He was close enough behind her that she could detect his scent now that the heavily-perfumed Gaspard had walked off, and she knew his gaze was still fixed on her. She was overcome with a powerful _ache_ , the wish to lean back into him and inhale his scent almost prevailing before she was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of her name being shouted.

“Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan…”

What was she thinking! She had barely ever touched the man, let alone intimately embraced him! And yet here she was thinking of doing just that, when Cullen himself did not even appear to wish to speak to her. With a sigh, Evelyn made her way around to the stairs down to the dancefloor, carefully picking up the folds of her dress so it did not drag as she descended the steps. Her gaze flickered up to look at him, and whilst at first he met her eyes much like he had in the foyer, this time he quickly turned away and looked out over the ballroom towards the Empress.

Knowing he was doing it to try to protect his own heart, Evelyn couldn’t find it in herself to be upset at him. If anything, she was saddened at her own words to him that day in the garden, and she wished she could find a way to take it back. She had a feeling that neither she nor the Commander himself had any idea how strong his feelings were until that day.

Evelyn talked her way through the introductions with Celene fairly well, responding vaguely and politely as Josephine had instructed her to, and was quickly dismissed to wander around the ballroom as she saw fit.

As she walked away from the dancefloor to the upper level, she spotted Cullen near one of the windows, looking uncomfortable as he tried to hide as much as he could from the gazes of many of the women in the room.

When Evelyn gave him the brightest smile she could muster from the top of the stairs, he gave her a hesitant one in return, and Evelyn felt her heart soar in _hope_. She was about to make her way over to him when a hand firmly grasped her wrist and quickly dragged her out onto the balcony.

Yanking her wrist out of the grasp of whoever had grabbed her, Evelyn turned to unleash a string of angry words when she froze in place, staring in shock at the person before her.

“Darling!”


	8. A confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in three days, shocking I know! But I had major inspiration for the end of this chapter, and I had to write it all out. This is definitely the longest chapter yet (twice as long as the others), but I couldn't think of a good place to break it up. Also, I really wanted to get the last scene out.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> (I am so sorry.)

“Darling!”

“ _Mother_?”

Even with the mask still on her face, Evelyn would always recognise the lower half of a face that matched her own, with the small birthmark underneath the jaw on the left side. She would always find comfort in the deep blue gaze that stared at her now, the same one that looked back at her in the mirror every morning for the twenty-seven years of her life.

Lady Trevelyan gave her daughter a bright smile as she removed her mask and its accompanying hair net, all but tossing it to the floor as the two women eagerly embraced each other. Their hug was tight, both relishing the moment and not wanting to let go; it had been nine years since Lady Trevelyan had given up on ever seeing the true Evelyn again, and Evelyn herself had requested her to never return to the Circle Tower. Evelyn found an immediate comfort she did not know she was even lacking in her mother’s arms, and inhaled the familiar perfume that Lady Trevelyan had always worn.

“Mother, I _missed_ you so.”

“I know, my darling, I know.” Lady Trevelyan released her daughter, but held onto her arms as she gave her the once over. Evelyn did the same, noting how her mother’s once bright blonde hair had faded to dark blonde with grey streaks, and there were wrinkles around her eyes that had not been present the last time she had seen her. She had also lost weight, which had the effect of making the taller woman look willowy.

“You look beautiful, mother.”

“As do you, my darling. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would get to see you looking as you do now, sublime _and_ in a dress, at a ball no less!” Evelyn felt sadness at that, knowing that when her magic first surfaced at the tender age of nine, all of her mother’s dreams of taking her to her first ball and salon had vanished. Evelyn had been the only child at that point, and her mother had gone through great pains to ensure that their close relationship did not deteriorate when she was sent to the Circle. Her mother had been her closest friend and confidante even when she was in the Circle Tower, and she knew that her decision to become Tranquil had broken her mother’s heart.

It had been part of the reason she had been so desperate to send her mother a letter once she was freed from the chains she had willingly slapped onto her wrists.

“Did you get my letter, mother?” Evelyn took her mother’s hand in her own, so thankful that she _could_ and had the ability to appreciate it. Lady Trevelyan covered Evelyn’s hand with her own, a smile on her lips.

“I did, and I was so happy I could have burst! But your father told me not to respond to it; he feared that one of your enemies could intercept our outgoing correspondence, and he did not wish to risk your safety. But I love you too, my darling. I was so happy to receive your letter, and that was before I had even opened it!”

At the look on Lady Trevelyan’s face, Evelyn leaned in for another hug and was granted it; her mother wound her arms around her daughter just as she used to when she would leave the Circle Tower for another month. Resting her head on her mother’s shoulder as she used to back then, Evelyn inhaled her scent once more and committed it to her memory before pulling away.

“But mother, what are you doing here?” At her words, Lady Trevelyan stood straighter with a look of knowing pride on her face, and smiled down at her daughter.

“My darling, there is someone I would like you to meet.” Lady Trevelyan turned to look at the entrance to the balcony with a smile, and Evelyn followed her gaze in curiosity. She had not noticed until then, but an unmasked woman was leaning against the door frame, her mask in her hands and a nervous smile on her face.

At Lady Trevelyan’s beckoning, she joined them on the balcony, her smile growing more nervous as she came to a stop next to Evelyn’s mother. On closer inspection, the woman was more of a girl, most definitely not older than seventeen. Her blonde hair was loosely curled and framed her young face, and with the lovely blue eyes she had Evelyn was surprised there weren’t several Orlesian men hanging off of her.

Evelyn clicked onto the girl’s identity just before her mother confirmed it, when she realised that though this girl was not identical to her, there was no way anyone could say they did not look alike.

“Evelyn, I want you to _finally_ meet your sister, Evonne.”

The girl curtsied politely, the nervous look still on her features, but it turned to hope when Evelyn impulsively embraced her, and the younger girl returned it hesitantly.

Evelyn had been extremely excited when, at eleven years old, her mother had written to her to confirm that she was expecting another child. Upon the babe’s birth, Evelyn’s mother had been told by her husband that she was not allowed to take the child to the Circle Tower until she was mature enough not to disturb the apprentices. By the time that little girl had been considered old enough by her father to travel to the Circle Tower at age seven, Evelyn had chosen the Rite of Tranquility.

Evelyn had never met her sister.

“The reason I am here, my darling, is Evonne has recently turned sixteen. When I heard you would be attending the party tonight, I did not want to attend alone, and I thought there was no better occasion for her to make her debut!”

“You’re sixteen? And we have never met.” At the sadness in her tone Evonne took a step towards her, giving her a kind smile.

“It was never your fault, sister. I am glad to finally meet you at last.”

Lady Trevelyan put a hand on each of their shoulders, a proud smile on her face and the hint of tears in her eyes.

“Ah, it is lovely to finally see both my beautiful daughters together at last!”

* * *

Evelyn had unwillingly left her mother and her sister after another ten minutes of talking, briefly explaining that her presence at the ball was not entirely a diplomatic one. Lady Trevelyan had taken the hint with a smile; she had whisked Evonne away with a promise to call at Lady Cecile’s manor the following morning, if they did not speak again before the end of the night.

With that, Evelyn had begun her investigation of the Palace, following Leliana’s instructions to the letter and enlisting the help of her companions along the way. She had flat out refused to scale the wall up to the Grand Library; instead, she had sent Sera up the wall and waited outside the main door into the library. When Sera opened it with a satisfied grin after a ten minute wait, the two women searched up and down for anything of use before the bell tolled and Evelyn was forced to return to the ballroom.

The meeting with Morrigan had unsettled Evelyn and irritated Sera, and the elven woman had quickly followed the dark haired lady with the intention of pulling some sort of prank on her. Evelyn had watched her go with a smirk before she had been accosted by Leliana, who had watched the entire meeting with Morrigan.

When Evelyn finally re-entered the ballroom, her eyes sought out Cullen and, taking in a deep breath, she headed over to him. She immediately noticed that he was surrounded by several women of the Orlesian court, and would have felt a pang of jealousy if not for the way that Cullen was desperately trying to ignore them all.

“Cullen!”

Evelyn barked his name with as much authority as she could muster, and despite his earlier coldness Cullen looked up at her with nothing but relief on his face. The women scattered, unwilling to get in the way of what appeared to be official Inquisition business; Evelyn stopped next to him and turned to look out at the dancefloor, a gentle smile on her face.

"Did you need something, Inquisitor?"

She shook her head.

“Are you enjoying the party, Commander?”

“Not in the slightest.” Cullen responded wryly, looking uncomfortable as he noticed the women looking over at him again. “They're relentless!”

“They are Orlesian.” Her words solicited a chuckle out of him, but a moment later he seemed to remember the state of their friendship and paused, looking awkward and as though he no longer knew what to say.

“Have you noticed anything suspicious, Commander?”

“Not yet. I am keeping alert, though it's difficult to observe much beyond the ridiculous plumes of their hats.” He shook his head in exasperation and irritation. “I may just go and hide in an alcove somewhere and observe from there.”

“I fear Josephine would drag you out by your coattails, Cullen.”

“That she would. It might be worth trying, however, if it grants me a moment of peace.” He smiled at her then, one of the old familiar smiles that he used to bestow on her, and Evelyn felt her stomach tug. With a sudden strike of boldness, Evelyn turned fully to look at him.

“Would you grant me the next dance, Commander? My dance card is woefully empty.”

“No, thank you.” His response was so quick and so cold that Evelyn took a step back in disappointment. Cullen seemed to realise what he had done, and he quickly looked up at her with surprise on his face.

“I-no, Inquisitor! Forgive me, but I've been asked that question so often this evening that I am rejecting it automatically.”

“So is that a yes?” Evelyn was hopeful, but Cullen still shook his head.

“I'm not one for dancing, Inquisitor. I…am not very good at it.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Apologies, Inquisitor. Perhaps another time.” Cullen _did_ look apologetic, to be fair, but Evelyn couldn’t help but feel rejected nonetheless. An awkward silence descended on them, seemingly unbreakable and so unfamiliar to the both of them. Ever since Evelyn’s Tranquility had been reversed, moments of silence between them were few and far between, with the only exception being when they both worked in his office.

With a sad sigh, Evelyn excused herself and returned to her investigation.

* * *

When Sera and Evelyn had eventually opened the door to the servant’s quarters, the smell of warm air and fresh blood hit them in a wave so hard that they _both_ dry-heaved at the unexpected smell. Evelyn meekly pushed the door open further, only to slam it back shut at the sight of blood all over the walls.

“Fuckin’ bastards! Always the little people!” Sera stormed over to the curtain nearby and yanked her bow and arrows out from behind it, a scowl on her face as she pulled off the Inquisition jacket she was wearing. Like Evelyn, she was wearing her leathers underneath. When she moved to boot the door open, Evelyn yanked her back with a shake of her head.

“No, don’t! Go and get Cassandra and Solas, and tell them to bring their weapons and armour. Solas is probably wearing his underneath the Inquisition garments, but Cassandra will have hidden hers somewhere. Meet me back here as soon as you can, but do _not_ go in until I say so.”

A seething Sera had opened her mouth to protest, but at the look of warning on Evelyn’s face she had stormed off in search of the Seeker and Solas.

With a sigh of irritation, Evelyn hiked her skirts up and half-ran back to the ballroom. She knew she was likely attracting attention, but the situation in the servant’s quarters was shaping up to be direr than she had imagined.

Bursting through the doors to the ballroom, Evelyn wove her way through the dozens of people until she reached Cullen, whose face held an expression of confusion at seeing the Inquisitor looking so desperate.

Without needing to be prompted, Cullen marched over to her and followed her when she turned on her heel and strode back out into the quieter foyer.

“Inquisitor, what is-“

“Where is my leather coat?”

Cullen looked stunned for a moment, unwillingly giving her the once over and wondering why she would need it: Leliana had not found the time to explain to him the intricacies of Evelyn’s dress.

“What's going on, Inquisitor?”

“The coat, Cullen! Where is the coat?” Irritation flashed across his features before he strode past her, leading her to the hallway that led to the Grand Library. With a frown on his face, he made his way over to one of the decorative vases and took it down from its pedestal. Inside it, neatly folded up, was her leather coat and gloves.

Taking the items from Cullen, she held them close to her chest and led the man by the wrist towards the servant’s quarters, having the foresight to realise that if she marched through the foyer in her armour she would likely start a panic.

When they reached the door to the quarters, Evelyn realised she was the first to arrive back. With a small groan, knowing she needed speed over propriety, she turned to Cullen.

“Take my skirt off.”

Her bluntness had been worth it for the look of horror on his face.

“I’m sorry?”

“Take the skirt off, come on, we do not have time!”

“Why would you need to-?”

“-I assure you I am wearing trousers, Cullen, just untie the ribbon and take my skirt off!”

“But I don’t see any way to take the skirt off without removing the whole dress-“

“Oh for goodness sake.” Evelyn dropped the coat and gloves to the floor with a hiss of annoyance. Angrily, she knelt and shoved her hand into Cullen’s left boot and removed the dagger that she knew he kept there. His noise of surprise almost made her laugh, and she examined the dagger for a moment before looking down at the sea-blue ribbon around her waist.

When Cullen realised what she was about to do, and simultaneously realised that the ribbon was preventing him from noticing the dress was in two separate pieces, he yanked the dagger out of her hands. He knew if she cut through the ribbon he’d likely have Josephine _and_ Leliana lining up to shout at him.

“No, don’t! Just… just turn around, Evelyn.” It was with an embarrassed flush that Cullen knelt, taking hold of the ribbon ends and tugging them, allowing the top of the skirt to loosen and reveal the separation between skirt and bodice. Cullen shook his head; he had dreamed of undressing her far more than he’d like to admit, but never in a thousand years had he thought it would be under these circumstances. He slowly unbuttoned the back, letting the skirt separate to reveal her leather armour underneath it.

“Oh.”

Evelyn flushed red.

“Well, what were you expecting to see?” Refusing to look him in the eye, Evelyn thrust the dress skirt into his arms as he stood and picked back up her gloves and coat. Once she had donned the coat, she held her wrists out to Cullen.

This time he didn’t need to be told: Cullen took the gold bangles off of her wrist with ease and deposited them in the inner pocket of his jacket. Evelyn gave him a smile at how automatically he did the gesture.

“Keep them safe. I know we joke about it, but we don’t _really_ want me to set the Winter Palace on fire if someone insults my dress now, do we?” Her humour brought a smile to his own lips, but before he could reply a look of fear passed over Evelyn’s face.

“My staff! I don’t have my staff, did Leliana give it to you?”

“Ey, got you covered.” Sera had approached with Cassandra and Solas, and she was warily holding a well-crafted oak staff. Evelyn took it from her with a curious look on her face, and Sera scoffed.

“That dark-haired lady gave me it, said you’d need it. I didn’t realise she was a bloody witch.”

Evelyn took the proffered staff with hesitation, a little fearful that it would feel too odd in her hands; it felt bulkier than what she was used to, but it would have to do. She looked over at Cullen, standing there with a bundle of red fabric in his arms and an exposed dagger in his belt, and prayed he would not get any funny looks on his way back through the foyer.

“Inquisitor? Good luck.” Cullen gave her a respectful nod, unable to clap her on the shoulder as he would with any of his soldiers due to the fabric in his arms. Evelyn’s grin was natural, and for a moment Cullen could pretend that there was never any cause for awkwardness between them.

But then her smile faded as she pulled her gloves on, free of the mana-inhibiting bracelets, and Cullen could almost _feel_ the lyrium in his bloody reacting to the crackle of her magic as she reached for it, ready to face whatever was on the other side of the door.

When they left through the door and slammed it shut behind them, Cullen wasn’t sure if the tug in his stomach was a fleeting moment of hope, or if it was his body reacting to the massive surge of mana that came from the other side.

* * *

The spell Evelyn used on Duchess Florianne was unlike any Cullen had ever seen. He knew immediately it was not something she would have been allowed to learn in the Circle Tower, for he had never seen anything remotely like it. He had seen spells used to incapacitate, spells used to inflict torture and agony on an opponent, but _this_ was something new.

In fact, if he wasn’t certain that she was powering her spell through mana alone, he would be convinced she was using blood magic.

As it stood, Florianne was about to plunge her dagger into Celene when Evelyn swung the borrowed staff with such force it gave off a whooshing sound, and aimed it squarely at the Duchess’ chest. A ball of cool green light -traditionally the sign of _healing_ magic-  shot out of the end and enveloped the woman, before her skin split open in a series of angry red marks that covered every inch of her visible skin.

Cullen had been alarmed, fearful the woman would bleed out, until he realised that the wounds were deep enough to mar the skin a deep red but _not_ deep enough to bleed. It looked like a thousand parchment slices on her skin, and the pain was enough to stop the woman in her tracks.

Even Solas had looked impressed, though that only reinforced Cullen’s suspicion that she had not learned that spell under proper tutelage.

In truth, Evelyn had learnt the spell during her seventeenth year, locked away in one of the more secluded dorms in the Circle Tower. As an apprentice healer, she had some modicum of freedom in wandering the hallways, for the Circle Tower she belonged to was far less paranoid than The Gallows, and her school of magic made her appear to be less dangerous than other apprentices.

So she had learned the spell, first in her room and then deep in the basements of the Circle Tower, as she plotted and planned the murder of the Templar who slept soundly five levels above. It was originally a draining spell, to be used on a festered limb or for when the subject was suspected to have blood poisoning. But with three months of careful study, Evelyn was able to manipulate the depth of the initial incisions. She kept her knowledge of the spell secret, knowing the Chantry had written it out of most healing books due to how dangerously close it toed the line between healing magic and blood magic.

As the Duchess fell to her knees Evelyn cast a life ward on the woman, knowing that it was in _her_ best interests for the guests not to see the effects of her spell. The guards moved in to grab Florianne, who flinched away from their touch at the phantom pain in her arms.

When the Duchess was dragged away, pleading with Celene that it was all a lie, a plot by the Inquisition, Evelyn looked up to Celene.

“Your Grace, I am very sorry to have interrupted your party.”

* * *

As Morrigan left her alone on the balcony, Evelyn adjusted the skirts of her dress with a feeling of unease in her stomach. She had put the skirt of the dress back on once she returned from the peace talks; Evelyn claimed it was because she looked too odd with the bodice of a dress on and then dark leather trousers, but in reality she was relishing the swish of the dress and how beautiful she felt in it, before she had to trade it back in for leathers and mud and diplomatic robes.

Leaning her elbows on the edge of the balcony, Evelyn relished the warm summer breeze as she looked out into the brightly-lit gardens below, wanting to explore them but knowing there was no option to slip away.

She immediately straightened when she heard footsteps crossing the balcony towards her, and was surprised to see that it was Cullen who had come out to see her. He looked out over the balcony briefly before turning to face her, mirroring her position as he stood straight with one hand resting on the balcony edge.

“Commander.” Evelyn nodded her head, unsure what to do now they were both alone with no eyes on them. Her heart was racing in her chest, and butterflies were raging in her stomach at the thought of how many different ways their next conversation could go.

“Inquisitor.” He gave her a small smile, as though he were debating something in his mind, before he continued. “You look lovely, my lady.”

And by the Maker, she did. He had not realised what a mistake he had made in avoiding her the afternoon he arrived until she had entered the foyer of the Winter Palace. If he had seen her in Leliana’s manor, he might have been able to convince himself that the three months away from her had allowed himself to let go of his feelings, that all would be well between them because he no longer held romantic feelings for her. He would have been able to _prepare_.

But nothing had prepared him for the sight of her walking into the foyer, her hair a far brighter shade of blonde due to the months in the sun and beautifully styled. The dress almost bowled him over; her bare neck and shoulders had him wishing he could lay kisses up the bared skin, and when the attraction returned the moment he looked at her, so did all the feelings he had locked away.

Hiding from her after three months apart, and then seeing her for the first time when she looked her very best, had not been the smartest decision Cullen had ever made.

“Thank you, Cullen. You are also looking quite handsome this evening.” Her words and her smile pulled him from his thoughts, but his returning smile was tight and Evelyn stood there, torn between silence and mindless chatter.

Terrified, she held out the olive branch.

“Cullen, might we be friends again? I… I have missed you terribly while in the Western Approach.” Evelyn didn’t want to rush into declarations of admiration and romantic feeling, not whilst she was unsure where he now stood.

Cullen’s responding smile nearly broke her heart; there was a restrained relief in it as he nodded his agreement.

“My office has been far too quiet without you there on an evening, Inquisitor.” The curl of his lip as he smiled had Evelyn wanting to kiss him; it was a smile she had seen dozens of times and yet she was beginning to realise how much she _missed_ his small, secret smiles.

As the music from the ballroom filtered out onto the balcony when the band started playing again, Cullen held his hand out towards her with a smile.

“May I have this dance, Inquisitor?”

“And you told me you weren’t going to dance this evening.”

Cullen’s response was to pull her to him as she took his hand, and Evelyn felt her breath catch as his other hand rested on her waist.

Evelyn relished the feel of it, the feel of his un-gloved hand in her own as he moved with her. A silence settled between them, tinged with awkwardness as they both tried to think of something to say, something to rekindle their friendship.

“For a man who said he could not dance, Commander, you are doing a very good job of it.” Cullen’s bark of a laugh as he spun her made her grin ever wider. The skirt of her dress swished along the floor and his boots, and Cullen found himself treasuring the moment as well.

“Mia may have forced me to learn as a child.” When Evelyn raised her eyebrow at him, Cullen lowered his head in embarrassment. “Leliana may also have… _persuaded_ me to learn last month.”

“Oh I can only imagine the fuss you would have made at that, Cullen.”

“I obliged quite quickly, once she threatened to put Sera in the tower next to mine.”

He felt his heart thudding as Evelyn let loose a laugh, and neither of them noticed that they had stepped scandalously close.

“How were things in the Western Approach? I have yet to read the final report.”

“Ah, and here is the Commander once again. You’ll be pleased to know we captured Griffon Wing Keep.”  They danced in silence for another moment, Evelyn tugging at her lip with her teeth as Cullen tried not to stare at the woman in his arms. His hand had slowly slid around until it was almost on the small of her back, but he had hardly noticed as he twirled her laughing body with ease.

“I won’t say that’s not a relief, Inquisitor.”

He looked down at her then, fully _looked_ at her and locked his eyes with her own. But Maker, she was _beautiful_.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” His voice was low, barely audible over the music. Neither Cullen nor Evelyn noticed that they had stopped dancing.

“In… in the garden. At Skyhold. I was mistaken.” The hand that had been held in his own was released as she brought it to rest on his shoulder; his hand naturally lowered to rest on her other hip, leaving her locked in his arms with both her hands on his shoulders.

“What were you mistaken about?”

Evelyn’s eyes were slipping closed, her whole body tense as she refused to break her gaze with Cullen. They were close now, closer than they had ever been before, their noses almost touching and their lips only millimetres apart. Evelyn only had to push forward a _tiny_ bit, and he would be hers.

The tension between them sparked, and neither would later recall _who_ initiated the kiss. All they knew was that one moment there was silence, the weight of what could be hanging heavy in the air between them, and the next they were kissing.

Cullen’s hand on her waist tightened as he pulled her closer, pulling her almost flush to him as his other hand reached up to cup her face. His fingers wound into the nape of her hair as she clutched at his jacket in her fists, and both allowed themselves to give in.

They did not part even when Cullen suddenly hoisted her up onto the balcony ledge, the hand at the small of her back keeping her steady. He pushed the skirt of her dress up as he got closer, the fabric hindering his process as he moved between her legs and kissed her ardently.

It was so much _better_ than Evelyn had imagined; the butterflies in her stomach were going crazy as she pulled Cullen closer, feeling the weight of his hand on the small of her back and his thumb resting on her cheek. The kiss was searing; it set her blood on fire as Cullen moved from her lips to her neck, kissing a trail up to her jaw before taking her lips once more. She knew that if anyone wandered onto the balcony and spotted them it would cause a scandal; the Inquisitor and the Commander kissing so brazenly on the balcony, with her legs wrapped tight around him and his hands wandering up her body.

They kissed as if it was all that mattered to them, as though it were all they had ever cared to want. Cullen nipped at her lower lip as she moved her hand to the back of his head, and they separated only because of the need for air after their fervent kisses. Cullen rested his forehead on her own, his lips pressed against her cheeks as they caught their breath. Evelyn was trying to get closer, to pull _him_ even closer, and she scooted to the edge until their chests were pressed together, and Cullen reclaimed her lips. His kiss was hard and fast, but it was only when Evelyn’s hand slipped under his jacket to rest on the small of his back that he yanked himself away from her.

They struggled to catch their breath as Cullen held Evelyn at arms-length away from him, his expression turning from one of desperate passion to abject horror.

“In-Inquisitor! Forgive me, I did not mean to… _Maker's breath_.” He let go of her and ran his hand over his face at the thought of what he had allowed himself to give in to. Evelyn shook her head and hopped down off the balcony, a desperate expression on her features as she took both of his hands and held them in her own.

“Cullen, _no_. Everything I said to you in the garden was wrong, _I_ was wrong. I should have never told you my feelings for you were false.”

The look he gave her made her feel as guilty as she had that night in the garden. It was one of disbelief and uncertainty, but she could also see the steel curtain slamming down around his heart.

“Inquisitor… Evelyn, what are you saying?”

She used his hands clasped in her own to pull him closer to her, a soft smile on her features.

“Cullen, I don’t _want_ to just be friends anymore. I had so much _time_ in the Western Approach to think about things, and I realised that everything I had said was wrong: I _want_ more than just friendship with you, Cullen.”

Cullen knew his own facial expression allowed Evelyn to see that he was utterly torn, and he knew he was breaking his own heart when he pulled his hands away from hers.

“Maker's breath, Evelyn, I _can’t_. I can’t go through the last three months again.”

“You don’t have to! I _know_ how I feel now, Cullen.”

“No, you don’t. Three months is not long enough for you to have…for you to…” Frustrated, Cullen ran his hand over his face in distress. What was he to do?

“Cullen, please.”

“I can’t, I _won’t_ do this again. I need you to be absolutely sure your feelings are genuine, and I don’t think that tonight you are.” He took a step back from her, but she followed, refusing to let this be the end of it.

“How can I make you believe me? All I felt when I was away was regret for being so wrong; how can I prove to you I know I am right?”

Cullen’s smile was sad when he met her eyes, and the shrug he gave was only half-hearted.

“You can’t, Evelyn. You need to be sure; we’re in the middle of a _war_. We can't afford any distractions whilst Corypheus is still out there.”

“You are not a distraction!”

“But your conflicting feelings are, Inquisitor. You just… you need to be sure. I need to protect myself. It's been... difficult enough, without any _further_ feelings involved should you change your mind again. I cannot go through it again.”

He turned to step away from Evelyn with a look on his face that could break even the coldest heart, and Evelyn reached for him in a last ditch attempt to change his mind. When her hand grasped his wrist he turned back to her and _pulled_ her to him; this kiss was so unlike the others, slow and full of sorrow whereas their prior ones were full of passion and desperation. When they pulled apart, Evelyn held his jacket tightly.

“Please Cullen. I have never regretted anything more than that night in the garden.”

She knew by the look on his face that this entire conversation was painful for him; his beautiful honey eyes were tinged with sadness and hope. She did not even need to ask to know that there was also a part of him that was praying to the Maker that her words were true.

Carefully, he took one of her hands and placed a soft kiss on her fingers before letting go of her. Cullen’s eyes were full of an emotion that he could not convey by mere facial expression alone: his gaze was cutting into her soul, but she knew he would need more than a passionate kiss to believe the words she was saying.

It was with a heavy heart that he left her on the balcony, with nothing but the sound of the music and the summer wind to comfort her breaking heart.

Leaning back with her hands to her face, Evelyn cried for the first time in nearly a decade.


	9. A tranquil revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of Greg Ellis as I write this chapter note, having only found out this morning about his disappearance. I hope he's found safe and soon, it's utterly heartbreaking news.
> 
> trigger warning for the chapter ahead: implied rape, suicide, and torture.

They have not seen each other in over a week when he finds her on the battlements. On the return to Skyhold, their tasks had kept them on opposite sides of the fortress.

He has had another nightmare. The sweat is dripping down the back of his neck from the soaked ends of his hair when he wakes up, tangled in the sheets and struggling to breathe from an imagined weight on his chest and the vivid claws of the desire demon wrapped around his throat. The room is stuffy and warm despite the hole in the roof, and Cullen barely remembers to throw on a tunic before escaping to the battlements for the biting chill of the winter air.

A guard he passes suspiciously informs him it is two of the morning watch, and Cullen wonders if he is really that unrecognisable without the armour and the cloak. His heart is still racing as he walks the battlements, his skin cool and clammy in the frigid air whilst his stomach rolls with nausea and the feeling of sweat on his back. Hair a mess of wild curls, Cullen feels the warmth of sweat across his forehead and on the nape of his neck, and the heat makes his stomach roll more despite the cool air.

Cullen takes deep breaths, desperate not to vomit, and walks along the battlements towards the secluded, badly lit area near the kitchens. If he’s going to be sick, he doesn’t want an audience.

He is almost surprised when he approaches and sees the silhouette of a woman, leaning against the stone and staring out over the mountains. But then he remembers her mentioning that she suffered too-vivid dreams, ones that unnerved her after so long without them, and suddenly Evelyn standing on the battlements alone at two in the morning is no longer such a surprise.

Granted, right now he wishes she was on her own balcony, but by the time he realises it is her she is too keenly aware of his presence, and Cullen thinks it would be rude to walk away now.

He approaches, stopping a meter away from her and mimicking her position on the battlements. The stone is cool against his bare forearms, and Cullen almost wants to rest his forehead on the coarse stone.

They do not greet each other; Evelyn looks his way briefly before returning her gaze over the mountains and up at the stars. Cullen wishes he did not notice the fact that she has her hair down, an increasingly rare sight as the missions piled up, or the fact that he knows which hairstyle she has been wearing today by the amount of kinks in her hair and the direction they go.

Cullen tears his eyes away before she notices him staring, unsure how he feels about her unwelcoming posture and the tenseness of her jaw.

After minutes of silence, Evelyn speaks.

“You smell… sick.”

Of all words that would leave her mouth, that is not what Cullen had been expecting.

“Excuse me, Inquisitor?”

“Not _of_ sick. You just, you smell like a sick room, like the air in a room where everyone is sweating out an illness. When was your last dose of lyrium?”

Cullen has to pause at that, struggling to actually remember when it was. Her regime of slowly weaning him off the stuff had worked, and he would be convinced the lyrium was out of his blood if not for the horrific nightmares he’d been having.

“A month ago, I think.”

“Nightmares?”

“I’d rather not go into detail-”

“-That is a yes, then. I suspect the last of the lyrium is leaving your system; it explains the nightmares and the smell.”

“I er…thank you?” Cullen is baffled, unsure why it surprises him that this is the first conversation they have had since the Ball. He coughs into his fist before he speaks again. “Why are you out here so early, Inquisitor?”

At first he thinks she will not answer; the rigid posture is back, and a wall throws itself up between them.

“It occurred to me, an hour ago, that in nine years of Tranquility, I did not look out the window once.” Her eyes flicker over to look at him, and the wall between them is so high that Cullen feels its presence as keenly a physical one. Her eyes are cold and show no emotion, and her tone holds no inflection for him to detect her emotions.

If not for the tense jaw and the set of her brows, Cullen would easily believe she had returned to the tranquil state.

“I woke up and I thought to myself, I _need_ to be able to observe the night sky just _once_ before the end. I needed to appreciate the beauty of it. Just because I _could_.”

She turns to look at him, and Cullen copies her position once more, so that they are facing each other with one arm leaning against the battlements. Cullen still feels sweaty and nauseous, though he is certain that the latter is made worse by the presence of this woman.

“The curse of Tranquility, Inquisitor. You do things only because you must.”

“Indeed.” Her tone is terse, but Cullen allows his eyes to slip closed as a strong gust of wind hits his back; the feeling is amazing, and the chill on the back of his neck is more than welcome.

“We are leaving tomorrow afternoon. I will arrange a war room meeting in the morning to explain, Commander.”

“How long do you suspect you will be gone?”

Her eyes meet his, and even in the darkness Cullen does not like the wall around her emotions that has been thrown up between them. It is almost enough to chill him, how she stares at him without that look of affection he had been so unknowingly used to.

“I cannot say.” She withdraws from leaning against the wall and goes to move past him, but Cullen quickly grabs her arm and holds her in place.

“Wait!” He does not expect her to momentarily freeze, and he looks at her desperately without knowing _why_. He curses her for being so uncertain about her feelings before changing her mind and professing love for him on the balcony, and he curses himself for his unwillingness to trust her and his own uncertainty about her.

She sees it, sees the pity and his own confusion about his feelings and his attitudes, but before she can move he opens his mouth to speak again.

“That spell you used on Florianne; where did you learn it?” It is not what she had wanted to hear, he sees it immediately, but he also sees her understanding of the weight of the question. Answering it will help to mend their relationship, establishing trust between them that will help them come to speaking terms again.

Furiously, she rips her arm out of his grip with a scowl, and her glare is as icy as the wind that whips around them as she storms back towards the bridge.

* * *

 

“You cannot _possibly_ think it an adequate use of Inquisition resources to take your entire group of companions on a three-month trek around Orlais and Ferelden!”

“If you had listened to the plan instead of _jumping down my throat_ , you would see that nowhere do I suggest taking everyone with me!”

“You cannot leave Skyhold for three months! What if Corypheus attacks?”

“If you would just _listen_ to me you would understand! We plan to stop back at Skyhold mid way through travelling to resupply. That makes it just over a month and a half at the most away from Skyhold: far shorter than more than half of our missions!”

“Cassandra, you cannot possibly agree with this!”

All eyes in the War Room turned to the Seeker, who was standing with one eyebrow arched as Cullen and Evelyn argued over the plan of action. Leliana had been nodding her agreement with Evelyn, whilst Josephine had supported Cullen, finding the idea of the Inquisitor absent from Skyhold for three months an inconvenience for her planned public events.

“My apologies, Commander, but I find the Inquisitor’s plan to be sound. We will stop at a different Inquisition hold every three weeks, changing out the members of the Inquisitor’s party to suit the tasks we will be dealing with in the area.”

Cullen could have blown smoke through his nostrils.

“Forgive me Seeker, but you are not ‘dealing with tasks’, you are going on a three-month jaunt around the country so that your companions will have a clear conscience when they face Corypheus. And, might I also add, _you_ have no intention of returning to Skyhold during the active party changes-“

Evelyn held her hand up sharply, silencing Cullen before he could continue.

“Excuse me, Commander, but you of all people should know that soldiers perform much better when they do not have things weighing heavily on their hearts. I am ensuring that my team performs at their very best, with no regrets, when the time comes.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“When we _die,_ Cullen. We all know that there is a high chance myself and the team I take to face him will not survive this. I want them to have no regrets.”

It works; Cullen is silent as Evelyn speaks, his nausea returning at the knowledge that she is _right_. They had all tried to ignore it, but after what Evelyn had seen at Haven, they know the final fight with Corypheus would likely be their last.

Cassandra moves forward and picks her helmet up from the table, a wry look on her face.

“Cullen, I will remain with the Inquisitor for as long as I am able for these missions. Skyhold will be safe, and we shall return immediately if need be.”

Cassandra walks out, and the way she leaves the room leaves no room for questioning her. Evelyn watches her go with a look of admiration on her face, and briefly wonders why it was not _Cassandra_ who was made Inquisitor.

Evelyn nods to the table and follows the Seeker, well aware that her exit holds half as much weight as Cassandra’s.

* * *

 

“Ugh, this is disgusting.”

Evelyn leans off the edge of the small jetty and dunks her dirty boot into the water, hoping to wash off most of the mushed-in soil and animal waste without having to actually touch it. Cassandra shakes her head.

“You do realise that water is probably dirtier than the mud on your boots.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Evelyn sighs.

“You are not helping.”

“I do not intend to. It is only dirt; you have been dealing with it long enough.”

Evelyn stands up properly and shakes her foot out, before dunking her other leg in.

“I have lived in a Circle for nearly twenty years, and it was _always_ perfectly clean. Outdoors, I can handle. Cow shit, I can not.”

Cassandra’s bark of a laugh is a delight to hear after so long on the road, and Evelyn throws a smile back her way.

They are two months through their journey, having left Skyhold two weeks prior to begin the Ferelden leg of the missions. Vivienne had acquired her snowy wyvern heart, Solas had seen his friend twisted into a demon, and Sera had made a mess of Verchiel. Blackwall had been sent to Skyhold to await judgement on her return.

They are dealing with Dorian’s unfinished business in Redcliffe, before moving on to meet Bianca with Varric. Evelyn planned to keep that same team until Cassandra’s business at Caer Oswin could be dealt with, before sending Dorian back to Skyhold and meeting Bull at the Storm Coast. After that, Evelyn hoped they could return to Skyhold quickly.

Evelyn had left Dorian in the tavern with a heavy heart, knowing he needed to do this on his own but unwilling to leave him nonetheless. She had done so at Cassandra’s urging, and walked with her down to the docks whilst Varric went to buy more crossbow bolts.

Evelyn is pulled from her thoughts as Cassandra stands next to her, and both women look over the lake to Kinloch Hold. They are alone, but the veil is slightly thinner here and Evelyn feels the shiver go up her spine at the thought of all the death that one tower has faced in the last twelve years.

Cassandra tilts her head towards Evelyn with a frown.

“Do you miss it?”

“Tower life? Occasionally. It was quieter, and when I was still an apprentice I used to love going into the gardens to enjoy the sunshine. My Circle was much more lenient than what I’ve heard from other Marcher Circles.”

Cassandra smiles, finding it difficult to imagine a teenaged Evelyn enjoying something as simple as the warmth of the sun. Sometimes, she forgets that Evelyn was not always tranquil.

“My friend, might I ask you something?”

Evelyn looks up with a grin, but at the serious look on Cassandra’s face it falters. She makes the connection instantly, seeing the curiosity in Cassandra’s eyes alongside the reflection of Kinloch Hold.

“If I tell you, I want you to cast no judgement on me.”

Cassandra pauses, briefly hesitating and wondering if she _can_ do that. But then she remembers that this woman is her friend, and that her past is simply that.

“Why did you choose Tranquility?”

* * *

 

Evelyn is fifteen years old, bright and eager and willing to please, when she is chosen as Enchanter Leanna’s assistant apprentice healer. With the world in a state and refugees trickling in everywhere from Ferelden (and it’s not a blight, it simply cannot be), the Circle’s infirmary is open to the occasional injured man who seeks their help.

Evelyn is two months shy of sixteen and starry-eyed, when the Templar arrives for the first day of his shift at Ostwick’s Circle Tower. He is handsome and broad-shouldered, and he takes a shine to the young Evelyn who runs down corridors with baskets of healing herbs and who spends her spare time in either the infirmary or the practice rooms, honing her healing spells so that one day, she too can become an Enchanter with a healing specialty.

Their flirtation is short; one harsh order and a bruised wrist sends Evelyn desperate to never interact with him again, and Evelyn finds protection in both her position as an apprentice healer and the daughter of a Bann.

It is her sixteenth birthday when Evelyn, with one hand holding a letter from her mother and the other a recipe for an elfroot balm, slams into the wide-eyed young elf on her entrance to the Circle. She is a transfer, a pretty young thing named Lavinia who had been living in the Gallows until the influx of Ferelden mages forced a transfer of some of their most well-behaved mages.

They get along spectacularly well, and Evelyn is happy and excited to become friends with the elf who is only one year younger.

Evelyn is two months past her sixteenth birthday when the Templar readjusts his focus to Lavinia. The girl is wary of his attentions but insists to Evelyn that it is harmless, a silly infatuation on his behalf that would go soon enough, just as it did for Evelyn.

Evelyn forgets that the only reason it disappeared for her is her father’s influence and her position as Leanna’s favourite.

It is a month later when Evelyn, on noticing that Lavinia has not returned from the library, finds her dear friend bruised and bloodied on the floor of a little-used storage cupboard with her robes torn to pieces. Evelyn holds her through her tears and heals her physical wounds, but it proves to be their undoing.

Evelyn is halfway through her sixteenth year when the First Enchanter tells her that due to the lack of any physical evidence, the Templar will be reprimanded but not removed from his post, and the pregnant Lavinia is so utterly, heartbreakingly terrified that she refuses to leave the infirmary.

Evelyn is trying to celebrate her seventeenth birthday when she sees the first smile on Lavinia’s face for over half a year. The young elf holds her human baby with a fondness on her face, though her eyes remain distant. It turns to a raw fear when Leanna moves to take the baby girl away, and Evelyn can only sit and hold her hand when Lavinia spends the entire night sobbing as the Templar leers through the infirmary window.

It is a week later when Evelyn is awoken by a panicked apprentice, who rushes into her quarters and begs her to hurry, as Leanna has summoned her urgently.

The smell of blood that hits her like a heatwave when she walks through the entrance tells her all she needs to know. As Evelyn cradles the lifeless body of Lavinia in her arms, she swears that she will ensure the Templar never gets the chance to ruin another young girl’s life again.

Evelyn is seventeen and wrapping Lavinia’s body in a shroud when she notices the bruises on her body, initially missed due to the clear-looking verdict of suicide.

She is trusted, she is admired by the mages, and she is halfway through her seventeenth year when Evelyn, after months of research and late night studies, perfects the spell.  She practices the basics on elfroot plants, ensuring that the skin of the plant splits without actually cutting beneath the surface.

The spell for induced amnesia, on the other hand, is a lot harder to ensure she will get right: she can hardly test it on herself, and if she’s honest she’s not sure if she _has_ done so already but has simply forgotten about it.

It is three months before her eighteenth birthday when Evelyn plans everything out, and only two weeks before her birthday when she puts that plan into action.

It is surprisingly easy to lure the Templar into the lower levels of the Circle, and only a little bit harder to persuade him to go even further down into the levels that were off-limits.

The Templar is unconscious before he can make any move on Evelyn, and she immediately strings him up to the ceiling and puts almost all of her mana into the spell.

It feels wrong and it feels dirty, taking a spell meant to help the healing process and instead using it to hurry along the process of death. The Templar is left standing with minute marks all over his body, but his screams betray the razor sharp pain that shoots through him at any movement.

It continues for a week before Evelyn cuts his throat and leaves him on the lower levels, all traces of her magic erased and the surface wounds on his body completely healed.

Evelyn cries as she hides his body, wondering how long it will be before it is found. She waits a week for her actions to no longer be counted as suspicious, then lays in bed one evening with her hands pressed to her temples, her chest heaving with sobs as her memory of Lavinia and the Templar are erased.

Evelyn goes to the Knight Commander that night and asks to become Tranquil. She has no idea _why_ she does it. There is a sense of failure and guilt in the pit of her stomach that she cannot stand, and a grief so strong that Evelyn finds it difficult to get out of bed that morning. It takes a week to prepare everything, and still Evelyn does not understand why she is so utterly  _relieved_  when the Knight Commander holds the brand against her forehead, a look of sorrow on her face. 

She wonders why she is so certain she wants this, and the not knowing causes tears to spill over her cheeks as all emotion is pulled away. Like looking down a tunnel, Evelyn feels her guilt and loneliness strip away, and she cries for their loss. When the brand is removed and the spell finished, she is free.

Evelyn is eighteen years old and Tranquil. She wipes her tears away silently with an unnatural calmness to her actions, and no longer cares why they were there in the first place.


	10. Desire

“I am sorry, my friend, that the Circle failed you both.”

Cassandra looked sincere as she said it, her jaw set tight and her eyebrows furrowed as she took in all that Evelyn had relayed to her in the last half an hour. Evelyn was wiping away her tears, and a wry laugh twisted her features at Cassandra’s words.

“Don’t be. I never told anyone about what happened. My spell had worked; I did not remember it once I became tranquil, and then I was never in the right state of mind to tell anyone once I _did_ remember. It… feels good, to tell someone about it.”

Cassandra gave her a small smile to match her own, and Evelyn knew that if their friendship had not already been solidified by this point, it certainly was now.  She rubbed at her thumbs whilst in deep thought for a moment, before she spoke up again.

“Besides, were my actions not an example of why tranquility was created? I took a healing spell and warped it to suit my murderous actions.”

“Perhaps, but he was a Templar. The Templars existed to protect non-mages, yes, but they were supposed to _protect_ mages also. This man did neither of those things, and you were only very young.”

“Same age as you were when you killed a dragon and flew another one.” Evelyn’s words were said with a smirk, and Cassandra shook her head with a grunt.

“Ugh, stop. That tale has been far too embellished by Varric.” Evelyn’s response to Cassandra’s grimaced words was merely a giggle, and the two sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes.

“I feel guilty, you know.”

Cassandra turned to her with a look of confusion.

“What do you have to feel guilty about? For murdering a murderous man?”

Evelyn shook her head with a quiver to her voice.

“I suppose… but Lavinia had cherished life, and instead of ensuring her child was safe I instead set out on a revenge she would not have approved of.” Evelyn moved to stand with a tiny frown on her face, and offered a hand to pull Cassandra to her feet with her.

“Come on, Seeker.” The words were said teasingly. “Let us go get our Tevinter mage before he and his father blow up Redcliffe. That would be a logistical nightmare that I do not think Josephine will appreciate.”

* * *

 

_Dear Cullen,_

_I am sending this letter with Dorian, who I am sending back to Skyhold with the latest mission report. I am aware that he was not due to arrive to Skyhold until after we had investigated Caer Oswin, but due to unforeseen circumstances regarding his business in Redcliffe I thought it best to allow him to return. Do not send Bull out prematurely to meet us; I require Vivienne if she is willing to come and meet us._

_When you go to the War Room tomorrow for the daily briefing, Leliana will likely hand you a report of our mission so far, compiled by our lovely Seeker Cassandra. Within the report will be the information which Leliana has so desperately sought since she realised I was a willing Tranquil. I have sat with Cassandra through the night as she wrote a detailed report of the motivations behind my becoming Tranquil, and if you have any deeper questions about what I am about to relay to you then you will find the answers in that report._

_I murdered a Templar, Cullen. I lured him to the depths of the Circle’s basements and I killed him with the same spell that I used on the Duchess. I tortured a man for hours before I slit his throat and drained his body of blood. I erased all signs of my magic from his body, and I left him in the basements to be discovered by some poor apprentice. I was turned Tranquil before the body was found, and so I was never punished or even discovered as the perpetrator._

_I did not kill him because of a wayward hatred of Templars, before you think me so petty. I killed him because for months he abused and hurt and murdered my closest friend, and he never faced any form of discipline for it. I did it to protect future young mages from falling under his wing, and to stop him from hurting anyone the way he hurt my friend._

_I do not regret a single moment of it._

_I am telling you this because I believe you deserve to hear it from me, rather than simply seeing it on a scrap of parchment in a room surrounded by Josephine and Leliana. I felt you needed to understand my point of view: I would do it again in a heartbeat, and I honestly believe my actions were the only suitable ones. The Circle would have only moved him or excommunicated him: both of these options would have allowed him to prey on other young girls in the future. I put a stop to that, and I paid my price willingly. I erased my memories of my friend and the Templar, and spent eight years suffering without understanding why._

_I am also telling you this for a reason that is perhaps more selfish than my earlier ones. I felt that if I told you why I became Tranquil, you might understand why I was so uncertain with my feelings mere months ago. I did not trust Templars, and I still do not. But I believed you to be a supporter of the organisation and a true Templar at heart._

_My feelings were always true: it was not my heart that was fickle but my own mind. I could not comprehend developing feelings for someone I felt could only be vastly different to myself, and I felt that I was betraying my own morals and my dear friend. I thought your experiences with mages had turned you into a bitter and merciless man simply because of your opinions, but I see now that I was wrong. _You are courageous and honourable Cullen, despite how you see yourself, and you are fortunate to possess a loyal and kind heart.__

_I am sorry for toying with your feelings, and for telling you that night in the garden that they were only a result of my regaining emotions. That was and is not true. It was I that lied, thinking I was protecting myself. I see now that I have only caused pain and sorrow to the both of us._

_What you decide to do with this information is entirely up to you. My feelings for you remain as strong as they were that night at the Winter Palace, and although I have very limited experience with such emotions, I know that they are very real and particularly strong._

_The decision is now yours, and I leave it to you to decide if you finally trust me, or if my revelation regarding my past has destroyed any trust you may have had._

_Until then, I remain yours,_

_Evelyn Trevelyan_

* * *

It had been a month since he had received the letter. The Inquisitor was, as far as he was aware, was due to start her journey back to Skyhold from the Storm Coast, and there were no plans to meet her out in the field. Any updates would be handled when she had arrived back at Skyhold and had rested, emergencies not withstanding.

That was how Cullen knew that this was a dream.

He was standing in a clearing that was reminiscent of the Emerald Graves. Sunlight filtered down through the tree canopy in rays, and through the leafy trees he could hear the sound of a small stream travelling along the wind. The singing of the birds was as clear as tinkling glass, and the forest was calm and warm in a way he had never experienced before.

But Cullen noticed immediately that anything further than thirty metres through the trees was blurred and faded like the background of a portrait. His footfalls on the forest floor sounded too hollow, whilst the ground beneath his feet felt thin and unrealistic. Tellingly, when he looked up to the canopy, it was clearly the sky of the Fade.

Further, Evelyn Trevelyan was stood before him with the most confused look on her face that she could muster.

“Evelyn?”

“Commander Cullen?”

There was confusion in her voice as she tried to place _why_ he was here in her dreams. He himself wondered if she had created the link in her sleep using a spell she did not know she could perform. Perhaps she was stressed over her return to Skyhold, in particular stressed over seeing him once again after she had sent her letter back with Dorian?

“Inquisitor, how did you enter my dream?”

“I think you entered mine, Commander, seeing as I was having a lovely walk through the Emerald Graves.” There was a sarcastic, tired drawl to her voice that he figured she must have picked up from Cassandra or Dorian. As it stood, despite his wariness, he was fairly certain it was the real Evelyn Trevelyan stood before him, meaning that somehow they had found each other in the fade.

A silence fell between them, terribly awkward and almost suffocating, and it occurred to Cullen that they had not spoken face to face in over three months. He took a moment to analyse her fade form. She had lost some weight, but had gained muscle in her arms as she used her staff more and more in battle. Her hair had lost its drastic brightness that it had gained on her sojourn in the Western Approach before the Winter Palace Ball, and was back to the light blonde colouring, pulled tight into a bun on the back of her head. Otherwise, she looked exactly as she had when she left Skyhold.

But the silence, Maker he needed to find a way to dissipate it.

“Inquisitor… we need to… to talk about the letter you sent back with Dorian.” He was wracking his brain trying to find a way to communicate his thoughts since he received the letter, but he had not thought much on what to say to Evelyn when she returned to Skyhold. Everything he came up with sounded too insincere, formal, or awkward. She was not supposed to return to Skyhold for another two weeks, and he had been comforting his nerves with the fact that he did not need to know what to say until then.

There was a visible shift in her attitude then, as she shifted her footing and crossed her arms in front of her. He continued talking.

“You told me that you were wrong to lie to me about how true your feelings were, but I… That is, I should not have left you at the Winter Palace as I did. A relationship between us had never seemed possible. You’re the _Inquisitor_ , and everything confirmed my idea that it didn’t seem possible.”

“And yet I still stayed.” There was a meaningful look in her eyes as she took a step closer to him, cocking her head in curiosity as she waited for him to finish.

“Inquisitor- Evelyn. When this started, I refused to consider much beyond our survival. But things between us have changed, since Adamant. I didn’t dare to hope, in case we do not survive this. But Evelyn, I want to- that is, if _you_ want to, I want to try.”

She had taken another step towards him, close enough that he could touch her if he just reached out. He moved closer still, reaching a hand out to grasp her upper arm. Evelyn’s eyes were fixed intensely on his own, and when she spoke he almost didn’t hear her words.

“If I kiss you, will you run away again?”

His laugh was disbelief mixed with relief and desperation, sounding almost like a sob in the silence of the clearing.

“No, no I won’t. There’s a lot to talk about, when you return, and I want _you_ to tell me about your Tranquility. But I won’t run if you don’t.”

Her laugh matched his own as her fingers reached out to grab the front of his mantle, and Cullen felt his heart rate increasing as her lips moved closer to his.

Before they could touch, when their lips were just a hair’s breadth away from pressing together, both of them were flung backwards from the force of a magical barrier being thrown up between them.

“Inquisitor!”

Cullen wasn’t sure what surprised him more when he came to his senses; the fact that Solas had arrived seemingly out of nowhere, or the fact that he had almost kissed a dream Evelyn without considering the possibility that she had been a desire demon.

“Solas?” Cullen had managed to stay on his feet, but Evelyn had fallen to the floor. She whispered the elf’s name as he helped her to her feet, looking suspiciously between Cullen and Solas.

“Inquisitor, I warned you that this could happen.”

As Cullen looked at her, Evelyn seemed to go into a daze, shaking her head as she fixed the front of her robes.

“I…” She paused, looking over at Cullen with a curious and wary look. “But Solas, I could have _sworn_ …” Her fingers moved up to touch her lips as she stared at him, and Cullen felt the distance between them expanding as her look turned into something more akin to horror than curiosity.

There was something off about the scene before him, but with the lyrium all but gone from his blood he could not reach out to detect the differences in the magic in the air. As it stood, the magic of the fade was powerful enough that he could not differentiate between Solas and Evelyn’s magic without the boost of lyrium.

“No, Inquisitor, it is not what you thought it was. I warned you that a demon would try to take a hold of your mind. Does it really surprise you that it would be a desire demon to make the first attempt?”

Cullen did not like the tone of Solas’ words, but before he could open his mouth to speak he felt the cool feeling of his legs being frozen into place. When he looked down, there was no visible sign of the magic, but he could not move his toes.

“Evelyn, wait-“

Evelyn silenced him with a wave of her hand, whilst muttering to herself under her breath and refusing to look at him. She focused on the clearing and the sky above her. “Of course, I’m not sure why I believed it, although I likely would be more convinced if you had chosen the Storm Coast or the Hinterlands.”

 _That_ was directed at him, and Cullen was hit with the uncomfortable realisation that she believed _he_ was the demon.

Cullen felt his blood run cold.

“No, Evelyn, listen to me. I am _not_ a desire demon, this part of the fade is from your mind, not my own. You _know_ who I am.”

For a brief moment, Cullen thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty behind Evelyn’s eyes, but any progress he made was immediately stopped by Solas. The elf placed a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Inquisitor, do not believe it. You are stronger than this, you _can_ overcome the influence of demons. You are not a naïve teenager. All you need to do is expel it from your dreams.”

The last word was almost a purr, and as the moment of realisation hit him Cullen moved to pull his sword from the sheath on his hip. His hand passed through air as he remembered he was not equipped with it when he fell asleep.

Before he could speak or move, the scenery shifted to the plain greyness of the fade, and Evelyn was no longer in sight. Almost as quickly as it had changed it shifted again, and Cullen found himself in the courtyard of Skyhold with a monstrous sized black wolf snarling at him. The moment he noticed the three red eyes it attacked, reaching his arm and sinking its teeth into his forearm.

Cullen jerked awake and snatched the wrist of whoever was holding onto his arm in a move that _should_ have caught them off guard and sent them sprawling to the floor. He took a moment to catch his breath before looking at the owner of the hand. He was shocked – and almost impressed- that it was Solas holding his arm, and the elf’s reflexes had been so quick that he had moved with the sudden grip on his wrist. The elf was still standing upright, albeit at an odd angle, rather than sprawled on the floor as any other person would be. Beneath his fingers Cullen could feel muscles leaner and stronger than that of the average elf, and looked at Solas in surprise.

Solas, however, was glowering down at him.

“Commander, this was likely not the moment for you to choose romance over logic. We may have just lost the Inquisitor to a desire demon.”

On the other side of Ferelden, the Storm Coast base camp slept on, unaware of the danger their slumbering Inquisitor was facing.


	11. Fade

“If you knew she was in this much danger, why did _you_ not try to fix it?”

They were standing around the war table, and hell was breaking loose.

“Do you think I had not already tried that, Commander? In the confusion, both the demon and I were ejected from her dreams. I knew it would return. I _incorrectly_ assumed you would react better to the situation.”

Solas was unusually snippy, concerned for Evelyn as he was. Cullen knew it must have irritated him to be bested in the Fade.

They were accompanied at the table by a concerned Leliana, a tired Josephine, and a rattled Dorian. The latter looked disgruntled but awake with dark circles under his eyes, and Cullen wondered if the man was having trouble sleeping since his return from Redcliffe.

“What I’m curious about is why the desire demon is choosing to look like _you_.” Dorian gave a pointed look at Solas. “Because the last I heard, the man she wanted warming her bed didn’t have pointy ears.”

Solas flushed at that, but shook his head when all eyes in the room turned to look at him.

“You should know as well as anyone that a desire demon does not have to be sexual. She desires control, she wants to know that she is free from the lure of demons. Evelyn wants to know that her mind is safe and that she is powerful enough to overcome temptation. It has taken my form because as her teacher she trusts my judgement. In the fade, she would not think twice if faced with Cullen.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment; did _everyone_ know his and Evelyn’s business? 

“Enough of this, I’m more concerned with what we can do about it. You said that we cannot go back, then what are we supposed to do about it?” Cullen's voice was sharp, impatient.

“I agree with the Commander: we must act quickly before the demon has a chance to take over the Inquisitor’s body.” Leliana was stood at his side, alert and aware in a way that indicated to Cullen that she had never gone to sleep in the first place.

“I can send someone else in, but it will need to be someone who is familiar with the fade and who can defend themselves if need be.”

Dorian looked up as four pairs of eyes pointedly looked at him.

“No, no. I’m not going in there. The fade I can deal with, but rooting around in Evelyn’s mind? I’d really rather not, no idea _what_ I’ll see in there.”

“You don’t have a choice, Dorian. And you will not be in her mind, you _know_ this.”

Dorian seemed to shrink into himself at Solas’ words, though Cullen got the impression that it was only he who noticed the way that the man’s jaw set as he grimaced.

“Get ready, I will meet you in your room in ten minutes. You are the only chance we have left.” Solas fixed Dorian with a level gaze before leaving the room with concern in his features. Leliana raised an eyebrow at Cullen before she followed suit, moving without a sound into the corridor.

Josephine stared down at the table with wide, tired eyes, and Cullen realised she was trying to figure out if she was dreaming or not. She quickly followed Leliana when she realised the other woman had left.

Cullen waited a moment or two before he stared at Dorian.

“What are you afraid of?”

The mage scoffed.

“Me? Afraid? Preposterous, you _must_ be tired.”

Cullen kept his mouth shut and his gaze on Dorian. With a sigh, Dorian sat down into the chair and huffed in annoyance.

“Fine. I’m not, I’m not _afraid_. I just… what if _I_ fail? What if it offers me something I just _can’t_ refuse?”

“You are stronger than you think, Dorian.”

Another scoff.

“Yes of course I am.” The bravado disappeared, and Dorian slumped in the chair. “At Adamant, in the fade, we came across a graveyard. Every one of us had a stone, and on them were our greatest fears. Mine was temptation. And do you know, hers said _nothing_. If _she_ is susceptible to this demon in all of her glory, how do I stand a chance?”

Cullen pondered Dorian’s words, aware that he needed to be careful with what he said in case the mage took it badly. He leaned against the table and folded his arms, lips turning into a frown.

“Dorian, when you were in Adamant, she wasn’t _Evelyn_. She had no fears because she could not _feel_ fear. She is only human, and I’m certain that if you were to go back, that headstone would not be blank.”

Dorian did not look comforted; he looked more _uncomfortable_. Cullen sighed, and moved so that Dorian had no choice but to look at him.

“If we thought you couldn’t do it, we wouldn’t let you.”

Another scoff.

“Of course I _can_ do it. It’s a case of if I can come _back_ after.”

“Dorian, you’ll be fine.”

The mage did not look convinced, but he stood up and dusted himself off nonetheless. With a wry smile to Cullen, he headed towards the doorway.

“Well, come on then my strong, handsome knight. Let’s see if I can do this.”

“Dorian, wait.”

He did, one hand on the doorway as he looked back at Cullen.

“What is it?”

“My headstone. What did it say?”

Something dark passed over Dorian’s features as the mage diverted his gaze to the floor. It felt like a breach of privacy, admitting that he had looked. His nails sunk into the wood of the doorframe, and Dorian felt the sudden need to flee the room. Voice barely above a whisper, he answered.

“Relapse.”

Cullen felt his skin erupt in gooseflesh as Dorian left him alone in the War Room. An illogical sense of shame washed over him, and he took a minute to steady himself at the table. He had expected failure, or something similar. He had not expected it to be so specific and personal, and it angered and upset him that the Nightmare Demon had been able to root so thoroughly into his mind when he had not come into contact with it.

Suddenly hyperaware of his fear of feeling the itch of a lyrium craving, Cullen left the room with his hands tightly fisted.

* * *

 

“There Evelyn, you’ve done brilliantly.”

Evelyn felt a burst of pride rush through her at Solas’ approval. He had been teaching her to hold up her mental shields, to keep the whispers of demons far from the edges of her mind. He was teaching her to erect a physical barrier around them in the fade, with the promise that when she woke up she would never again fall to the potential influence of demons.

It was all she had wanted since she had lost her tranquility; to feel secure in her own body, to not fear every realistic dream she had in the night. The approval of her friend made it feel like much more of an achievement.

The aforementioned barrier shone brightly around them, a deep purple shimmery wall that would block entry to anything that tried to pass through it.

Evelyn was admiring it as Solas spoke to her, and it took her a moment to realise what he had said.

“I’m sorry, Solas. Could you repeat that?”

“I said that you have done exceptionally well. All you need to do now, Evelyn, is to open your mind to me so I can examine your mental stability, to be sure that you are certainly under no risk.”

Even in her dazed state, that rang an alarm bell.

“Open my mind to you? That does not make sense, Solas. You told me to be sure it was closed off so no demon could sway me.”

The smile on his face was too kind, too understanding, even for Solas.

“My dear, I am no demon. You risk possession if you do not open your mind to me.”

His logic was sound, but something seemed _off_. Evelyn could not pinpoint what it was, and her attention was momentarily pulled away from the barrier she had erected.

Dorian sauntered through it.

“Oh, why thank you, Evelyn. I thought I was going to have to put some real effort in, there.”

* * *

 

Dorian found them in minutes.

Solas clearly knew far more than he let on about this sort of fade travel. Dorian was immediately suspicious of how easily he found Evelyn and the desire demon, and especially curious about how Solas had managed to place him so close to them when Evelyn was on the other side of Ferelden.

He’d be having words with the elf when he woke up, that was for certain.

He was stood in front of the barrier for several minutes, attempting to find a way to break through it without bringing Evelyn to harm, when it blinked twice and began to look like more of a haze than a wall. With a shrug and a manner entirely too confident, he strolled through and thanked the proverbial gift horse.

“Oh, why thank you, Evelyn. I thought I was going to have to put some real effort in, there.”

Both beings inside the barrier whipped around to face him. The demon looked calm, but a storm raged behind eyes that were perpetually neutral in their owner. Evelyn was more alarmed, a hint of fear and uncertainty on her face.

“Another demon, Inquisitor.” The demon, keeping up the façade of Solas, placed a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder to ground her to him. Dorian’s eyes narrowed in on that point and, unusually, so did Evelyn’s.

“But why Dorian?”

“Perhaps it misread your friendship with him, or perhaps you have missed his friendship these last few weeks away from Skyhold. Perhaps you yearn to comfort him after the disaster he had with his father.” Red eyes that Evelyn did not see glinted his way, and Dorian frowned.

“Now really, there’s no need to go that far, is there?”

“Dorian, how did you get here?”

Dorian took a step closer when he noticed the demon’s grip get tighter on Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Our dear elf Solas sent me.” At Evelyn’s confused glance up at the demon, Dorian shook his head. “No, the real one dear, not that thing hanging off your shoulder.”

Evelyn was tugged backwards towards the demon at those words, alarming Dorian.

“Ignore his words, Inquisitor. The demon seeks to persuade you to lower your walls, to reveal a weakness to let it in. Open your mind to me and I can protect you from it.” The demon had placed its other hand on her shoulder, holding her tightly in place as war raged on Evelyn’s face.

“If I open my mind to you, won’t that-“

“I don’t have time for this. Evelyn, where were you when you fell asleep?” Dorian was losing patience and time.

“I- I was at…” Her frown became panicked. “I don’t remember.”

“You are at Skyhold.” The demon cut in, voice persuasive. “I am helping you to resist possession before a demon appears.”

“Bullshit, he is the demon Evelyn. Cullen was here, as was the _real_ Solas. You are camping at the Storm Coast.”

“Cullen was here?”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. Of _course_ the demon was removing those events from her mind. It helped it gain a foothold.

“Evelyn, for the love of Andraste’s knickers, you are better than this. _Why_ would Solas want you to open your mind in the _fade_ of all places?”

He almost felt sorry for her. Evelyn looked lost, like a child wandering a large city having lost its parents.  Her eyes were darting between himself and the demon, torn between logic and the teacher she trusted most in the fade.

“It’s the only way you can avoid possession, Inquisitor. If you let me in, you will be forever secure.” It was starting to no longer sound like Solas; its words lacked the rhythm of the elf, lacked the tone that suggested mysteries hidden within mysteries.

Dorian liked to consider himself a patient man, willing to listen and negotiate. He would never have survived Minrathous without such skills. But it occurred to him, as the demon gripped Evelyn ever tighter and the woman began to sway towards it, that perhaps diplomacy was why Cullen and Solas had failed.

What was it that everyone seemed so fond of saying? That a demon would always protect itself first in the fade?

Quickly, and without much of a warning, Dorian took his staff from his back and swung it around with all the strength that he could muster.

Evelyn was thrown to the floor as he swung it, the demon staying true to the rumour and throwing her away as it transformed to its natural form. A long tail wrapped around his staff and yanked it from his grip before it could truly hurt the demon.

“Maker’s breath!”

“Do you believe me now?” His voice was cocky, full of relief as Evelyn hurried to stand next to Dorian and face the demon before them.

“I am sorry I ever doubted you!” Evelyn pulled as much of her mana together as she could, ready to send a fireball as the demon advanced towards them.

Dorian used his magic to hold the demon in place, mentally thanking Solas for his insistence that Dorian learn the spell. Evelyn’s fireball careened towards it, but barely marred the beautiful purple skin.

“You’re not focused! That thing is not Solas: direct your betrayal and your fear into the flames and do it again!”

Dorian felt useless, but few of his spells would work on this demon and it was _Evelyn’s_ battle, not his. If she defeated this demon, it likely would have the same effect as a harrowing. She would certainly be less susceptible, if this lesson was harshly learned.

The next fireball that was flung at the demon packed a lot more punch behind it, but Evelyn was still hesitating.

“Better! Now one more!”

Dorian was sweating from trying to keep the demon in place; it broke free just as Evelyn launched a final fireball towards it. It hit its target: the demon exploded on impact and sent chunks of fade blood and burnt flesh flying towards them.

Dorian threw up a force field to protect them from the debris, breathing hard as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Good?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Dorian grimaced.

“Go be sick over there, I don’t want to hear it.”

Evelyn shook her head, one hand on her stomach as her eyes teared up.

“I can’t believe I fell for that. It nearly… It nearly _got_ me.”

“Yes well, you had us all rather alarmed when you chose the desire demon Solas over Cullen.” Dorian’s tone was dry as he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, wary of spooking her too much. Evelyn’s eyes widened.

“Oh Maker, I thought that was a dream.”

“It was, technically. But you do need to wake up, so I can go tell your dearly beloved that you have not, in fact, become a demon’s dinner.”

Evelyn shook her head at his words, using his arm to steady herself.

“I nearly got myself killed. Oh Maker, I could have been possessed, how could I have been so _stupid_?”

“You really are being too harsh on yourself, you know. The south has been purposefully doing this to its mages for _centuries_. Anyway, we do need to leave: I imagine Cassandra is completely besides herself with worry for you, and is probably luring all sorts of creatures to your campsite in her panic.”

That drew a smile from Evelyn’s lips, but her face was worryingly pale, and Dorian lightly slapped her cheeks in an effort to make her focus.

“Right, you can wake up now Evelyn. I’d like to wake up too, so get going. Go on.” Dorian held her shoulders tight as she started to sway, her form fading fast before she disappeared from his sight. A few moments later, he felt the same ethereal feeling to his bones, and realised Solas was bringing him out of his sleep.

Dorian woke in the cold of Skyhold to the curious and worried faces of Solas and Cullen.

At the Storm Coast camp, Evelyn woke to Cassandra’s blade at her throat.

* * *

 

_Commander Cullen,_

_After undergoing much testing from Vivienne, and a thorough interrogation from Cassandra, I am pleased to write back to Skyhold to confirm that I have not, in fact, been possessed by the desire demon at the Storm Coast. My mind is my own, and we are making haste to pack up camp and return to Skyhold as soon as the weather permits. _

_I have been told that Morrigan has arrived at Skyhold with this mysterious mirror that she has been talking about: please inform Leliana that I would like a report on all the information you and her have collected on this object, and to move the mirror into the isolated room off the courtyard._

_I have been told that the Duchess has arrived at Skyhold and is currently in the cells; keep her there. I have no patience to deal with her until after the mess with Corypheus is done with. (Bull insists that you raid the store cupboard for a jester outfit and place her in the main chamber. Feel free to do this, if things really are that boring back at Skyhold.)_

_Finally, another dragon skull has been sent to Skyhold. Please send any complaints to Josephine._

_Now that the admin is over with, I have one more thing to say. I remember fully now our conversation in the Fade. I am not sure if it was wholly a dream, or if you remember it too. If so, what I said was true, and I sincerely hope that when I return to Skyhold we will have an opportunity to talk about the status of our relationship. I have missed you, Cullen, and I am frankly quite tired of having to listen to Cassandra attempt to wax love advice at me._

_Perhaps the dragon skull is an acceptable courting gift, if I am to follow her example?_

_I remain yours,_

_Evelyn_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was not quite sure whether to go with 'Failure' or 'Relapse' with Cullen, so went for the latter! Thank you to those who commented lately that I did not end up replying to: I appreciate them and I am so very glad this is still a liked story!


	12. Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the delay, I have another Cullen/Trevelyan fic in the works that I'm trying to not write until I finish this one, but I'm also trying not to lose my ideas for it!

It was well past the second hour of the morning when Cullen poked his head out of his office to ask the startled guard the time. He’d stayed up late, very late, filling out forms and finishing reports in order to have as clear a schedule as possible the next evening.

The evening that Evelyn was due to return back to Skyhold.

Cullen retreated back into his office when the guard stuttered out a ‘half past two of the morning watch, sir’, and proceeded to lock the three doors into the room. The room was silent, every rustle of his clothing loud in the quiet, and Cullen moved to replace the dying candle on his desk with a new one from his drawer.

As he leaned back against his desk with his arms folded, he contemplated the quiet of Skyhold. Rarely was he able to quietly ponder without some sort of background noise, and the silence was both calming and unsettling. Without the ringing of clashing swords or the late night vibrations from the tavern, Cullen could almost pretend he was not in Skyhold. The room was aglow with the candlelight, soft with the gentle flicker of the draught his room had.

Even when he had been awake at this hour before, his walks among the battlements were usually accompanied with the whistling of the wind through the mountains.

As he shifted, he wondered if he should bother going to sleep. He would be up at six, most likely, and he had a feeling that three and a half hours of sleep would make him feel worse in the long run.

Cullen sighed, pulling off his fur mantle and gauntlets and placing them gently on the edge of his desk. He felt lethargic, unwilling to go upstairs to his bed but unwilling to stay downstairs and work in his office.

Recognising that part of his lethargy probably had something to do with his nervousness at seeing Evelyn the next evening, Cullen all but sat on the edge of his desk and wondered how their conversation would go. Would she be nervous? What if she had changed her mind?

Or worse, what if so much had already passed between them that they simply decided it was a no go?

Growing increasingly agitated at the prospect of the next evening and finding it difficult to breathe in his armour, he removed the chest-plate and the rest of the upper body armour, leaving him clad in only his shirt and leather greaves. The cool draught was a blessed relief on his skin, but Cullen recognised the symptoms of a painful migraine that would surely blossom if he did not get at least five hours sleep.

Just as Cullen was debating if he should sneak into the kitchens for some cold meats, the distinctive sound of metal scraping along metal echoed into his silent office. His hand moved to his sword hilt, resting next to him on the desk. The sound became clearer, more obvious as that of a metal pin picking the lock on the front entrance to his office. The scraping and tinkling continued for a moment longer before he heard the lock spring open with the turning of the bolt.

He waited, in the dim glow of the office, with every muscle tight with the urge to defend himself against the yet unseen enemy. There was another moment of silence, where Cullen briefly wondered at the logic of entering through the most well-lit doorway, before the door handle was turned with a loud creak and the door swung open.

His blade stopped centimetres from Evelyn’s throat as she walked through the door: both of them froze, Cullen in confusion as he realised the woman on the end of the sword should _not be here_ , and Evelyn in indignation. To her credit, she did not flinch, but then again the sword was not touching her.

She looked down the blade pointedly, before dragging her eyes up to meet Cullen’s.

“Well, there’s no getting the drop on you, clearly.”

Cullen dropped the sword.

“Inquis- Evelyn, I am _so_ sorry. I thought you were… I heard the lock being picked and I assumed the worst.”

Her responding laugh was music to his ears: he was not quite sure what he would do if she was angry. Evelyn closed the door as she stepped through, and he noticed that she was not _dressed_ as though she had just returned to the Keep. She was wearing the blue day dress she wore on quiet days, and her hair was clean and out of any restrictive hairstyle.

“Cullen, believe me, I am very glad to see that you have such brilliant reflexes, if you were awake and down here with your sword at the ready before Varric had even finished picking the lock.”

She looked around the room as she walked further into the office, and Cullen retreated to his desk to place his sword back into its sheath. Predictably, Evelyn immediately noticed the large pile of paperwork and the small pile of his armour. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned to look at him.

“Why have you not been to sleep? It’s nearly three in the morning.”

“Why are you back in Skyhold a day early?” Cullen countered, unwilling to let her see the extent of his bad sleeping habits.

Evelyn levelled him a look.

“I asked you first.”

Cullen sighed.

“I was finishing off paperwork so that I did not have such a large amount to go through tomorrow. I wanted us to be able to talk properly without the spectre of paperwork hanging over me.” At his words, Evelyn’s expression softened, and she took a step closer to him.

“I came back as soon as I could. I have been waiting to return for some time now, and I knew pushing us to continue throughout the night would be worth it, to see you.” Her words were heavy and full of the weight of the choice to come. Their long overdue conversation had the capacity to change things for better or worse, and they both understood it.

Before Cullen could reply, the smell of the pracaxi in her hair filled his nostrils, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“You came back and then you went to bathe? How long have you been back in Skyhold?”

Evelyn had the grace to look a little sheepish, but she was entirely steadfast in her response.

“I’m not a savage, Cullen. I was hardly going to come and jump you in your rooms whilst stinking of dragon blood and six days’ worth of grime.”

Cullen raised his eyebrow at her words, and Evelyn flushed.

“I… not that I _had_ any plans of jumping you.”

The look he levelled her with told her he did not believe her, and Evelyn almost took a step back when he stepped closer.

“Are you certain you want this? I won’t be played with again.”

Evelyn almost sagged against the table with regret at the feeling in his words, and she shook her head vehemently.

“I didn’t know. I had not felt in so long that I forgot _what_ it felt like.”

“And now?”

“I’ve not been this certain of anything in over a decade.”

Cullen pulled her to him at those words, his hand resting on her hip as Evelyn moved to meet him halfway. There was only a moment of hesitation before she kissed him, her hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt as he backed her up to the desk. It was gentle, at first, almost as though both were in disbelief, until Evelyn was pressed flush against him, and threw all doubt to the wind.

Evelyn pulled him closer as he kissed her deeply, feeling the relief and need to get ever closer after so long a separation. It had been _too_ long for them to settle the feelings between them, and Evelyn felt the desperate need for something more intimate than a kiss. As his hand settled close to the buttons on the back of her dress Evelyn tugged at the hem of his tunic until it was free from his waistband and she could press her hands flat against his back.

As her nails scraped Cullen’s lower spine the kiss turned heavy, and Evelyn squirmed against the ache between her legs. It had been far too long since she had had the ability to feel it at all, and when the evidence of his own arousal pressed against her groin became too much to bear, she pulled back enough to stop the kiss.

“Upstairs?”

That seemed to startle Cullen, who looked at her with uncertainty and a small amount of surprise. His breathing was hard as he looked at her, lips only inches from her own.

“I don’t… is it too quick for you?”

“Cullen, if you don’t want to that is okay, but if you are stopping because you think I want to take it slow, don’t you think we have waited long enough?”

He considered her words, difficult to do when her hands were slowly inching themselves back around his waist to tug at the lacing of his breeches. With the fight moving to the Arbor Wilds by the end of the month, and them dancing around each other for nearly a year, did she not have a point?

Looking at her, there was no denying she _wanted_ it, though Cullen could see she was trying to look more confident that she felt. Pulling at one of the buttons on her dress, Cullen kissed her hard before he pulled her towards the ladder.

“Upstairs.”

* * *

 

It was nearly seven when Evelyn arrived back at her room, and fortunately Skyhold was still bathed in the darkness just before dawn. A few of the servants may have glimpsed her, but Evelyn hoped that with her day dress on –though potentially crumpled- most would assume she had awoken and gotten ready for the day.

As she lit the brazier at the top of her stairs, she heard something move in the darkness of her room.

“Where _have_ you been?”

She screamed.

The room was flooded with the light of the brazier as the other two came to life, and Evelyn was greeted with the curious sight of Dorian sitting on her settee looking all the world like he belonged there.

“Dorian! What are you doing, sitting here in the dark like some kind of demon!” Evelyn clutched her hand to her chest to calm her heart rate, and the look she threw Dorian was one of surprise and indignation.

“ _I_ came to your rooms last night to see how you were, after I left you at Redcliffe. I had all sorts of brilliant information to pass on to you, so when your lovely lady’s maid told me you had just set out for a walk and you would be back shortly, I thought to wait.”

“And you just waited _all night_?”

“Don’t be preposterous! I fell asleep waiting for you on the chair, but I woke briefly around five to see if you had returned. When you had not, I went to the balcony to check you had not come upon some tragedy in the courtyard. Imagine my _shock_ at finding the Commander’s candle was still burning brightly from his rooms, but that it had moved to the upper floor. Fancy that.”

Evelyn levelled him with a curious gaze as she stepped closer into her room, and Dorian threw her the hairbrush that was sitting on the arm of the settee.

“Let me reiterate; so you continued _to wait all night on my settee_.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to miss this.”

“I do not know _what_ you’re thinking, but nothing happened.” Her point was slightly less effective as she tried to drag the brush through a tangle of hair at the back of her head. Dorian smirked.

“You smell like a whorehouse.”

Evelyn whipped around to face him where he was still sitting.

“Excuse me?”

“A good one, don’t get me wrong. But the smell of perfume and sex is hard to get rid of if you haven’t bathed since doing either.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, feeling her high from the morning dissipating with every note of sarcasm she fought off. She moved over to the bathtub still near the balcony doors, and checked it had been cleaned before filling it with water from the buckets kept in the side room. As she heated it with her magic, Dorian laughed.

“That’s cheating, you know.”

“Magic is meant to serve man.” Evelyn droned the words out like a chantry priestess.

“Yes, well, I don’t think they _quite_ meant it in that way.”

“Yes, well, _get out_. I need to bathe and I am not doing that with you here.”

“Fine, fine. Do come and see me later, though. I’d like to talk about Redcliffe.”

Evelyn gave him a genuine smile as he left, and despite his ribbing, his returning one was warm as he sauntered down the stairs.

She could not deny she was relieved when the door slammed shut, however.

* * *

Evelyn did not get the last word with Dorian. When Cullen arrived up to her room that evening, after getting his potion batch from Dorian, to resume their custom of working in each other’s office, the light blush to his cheeks made her sigh. She put her quill down on her desk gently and shook her head.

“What did he do?”

Cullen took a vial from atop his papers and placed it on the desk in front of her.

“I believe his exact words were ‘to stop the threat of any little redheaded lions running around the place.’”

“I am going to kill him.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so quickly, I know, but it seems my Trevelyan/Cullen muse has come back. In a shameless plug as this nears a happy end, if you don't think I've put these two through enough misery, check out my new fic Matters of Convenience, because I just don't think I'm making their lives difficult enough.

“No, you’re not coming.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t, and I won’t.”

They were in Evelyn’s room, separated by the desk in the corner as Evelyn planned the assault on Samson’s hideout and Cullen considered his options in going.

Evelyn refused to back down; Cullen should _not_ be going, and it was  _her_ attack on the base.

“You are too emotionally involved in this, Cullen.” It was a weak excuse, but it _would_  be far too dangerous.

“Oh come on, Evelyn, I have a duty to see this through and you _know_ it.”

“Besides, it is far too dangerous, and I’m taking enough of a risk with my current forward team.”

That angered Cullen even more, and he took a step forward and slammed his hands onto the desk. Evelyn, to her credit, merely raised a brow at him.

“I’m sorry, am I the Commander of your army, or am I a child that needs to be coddled? I’m going.”

Evelyn flinched; he had a point.

“Cullen, it will not be long before we march on the Arbor Wilds: I need you here, coming up with our strategy.”

“I’m having trouble understanding why you seem to think I’m so incapable at my job that I need up to a month to create a strategy.”

“That is _not_ what I’m saying!”

“Oh, is it not? Good, because I’m coming.”

Evelyn groaned, knowing that the fight was lost. She could not stop him going, and he had no wish to back down.

“Fine! Fine, you can come with us. Maker, just sit down.”

The worst thing, Evelyn thought, was that he didn’t even look smug; just grateful, with a touch of relief.

“Thank you. I would…sleep better, knowing I was going in there with you. At your side.”

And Evelyn nearly _melted_ at that, as Cullen lowered himself into the seat in front of her and sat back, fixing her with a small smile.

There was a brief silence, as Evelyn dithered on the edge of a confession, unsure to tell him now or let him find out in the midst of a battle. She opened her mouth to speak at the same time he did.

“Is there something wrong?”

“There’s something you need to know.”

Silence again, before Evelyn sighed, seeing the uncertainty behind Cullen’s eyes and immediately wishing to correct any misassumptions.

“Before we get to the base, you need to know that my magic has been acting…strange.”

“How so?”

There was worry in his eyes, a fear that Evelyn was certain was reflected in her own.

“When I woke from Tranquility, you recall that I had gained quite an impressive ability to summon fire at will?”

Cullen scoffed; he was unlikely to forget the metal of his boots melting into the flagstones at Adamant.

“Where are you going with this?”

“Lately I have been…unable to conjure anything more than a simple fireball. Anything more powerful than that sputters out before it’s really here.” Evelyn chewed her lip when she finished speaking, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Solas and Cole assure me that it is because everything is finally stabilising; my magic is no longer erratic, and so my talents return to what they once were, before tranquility.”

Evelyn had stood up as she spoke, and moved around the desk to lean against it on Cullen’s side.

“So then there is nothing to worry about. Your healing spells may have improved immensely as a result of this.”

“I have thankfully not had the opportunity to try. However, I am fearful of the second possibility.”

Cullen shook his head at her words, unwilling to think of the prospect; in his mind he could see her from before Adamant, alone and quiet with empty words and clear eyes.

“I think you’re scaring yourself far more than you need to, Evelyn. Mages don’t just fall into tranquility.” He stood so that he was no longer looking up at her, and placed his hands on her hips, more of a comfort than an attempt to embrace her.

“And tranquil mages don’t walk into the fade with a scar on their forehead and return mark-free and _normal_. If my magic fades and I return to tranquility, I need you promise me that I won’t be forced to live that way again.”

“Please, don’t ask this of me. I don’t know if…”

Desperate, she started again.

“I remember before, you know. Before Adamant. Every time I went near a rift and I came through, I remember. Cassandra’s face as I begged her to kill me, to stop me from returning to the nothingness. I fear the nothing, Cullen, I spent so much of my life unaware that each time I came through it was killing me. Do you know why Cassandra stopped sending the reports of rift closures back to Skyhold?”

Cullen flinched; he had an inkling, but even Leliana, who initially blamed the careless use of the brand for their Tranquil Herald, had warned him not to read Cassandra’s final report. It had been locked in a desk in Leliana’s rookery since it came in.

“Tell me why.”

“I took the dagger from my belt as she helped me close a rift, and turned it on myself. I cannot live that life again, and I do not think any of the others would do what needed to be done. Even Cassandra: I think she would spend the rest of her days trying to reverse it, and I love her for that, but I cannot do it. It may be nothing, Cullen, but it may be something, and if it is, I beg you, do not make me live in the darkness again.”

Her hands had moved to cup his face as she spoke, and Cullen turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand before pulling her closer, and as she wrapped her arms around him he felt the cold tip of her nose in his neck. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, and he tightened his arms around her waist.

“I will not allow it to happen. But if you want me to promise that I will follow your wishes, then… I will. I must. But it will not happen.”

* * *

 

The sound of battle in the ruined base went on around her, but Evelyn’s gaze narrowed down onto the two spikes of red lyrium attached to the templar shadow. One spike had entered her abdomen, whilst the other pushed through her breast and into her right lung.

A bubble of blood popped at the corner of her lips and trickled down her chin, as the spike from her stomach was twisted and yanked out. The blow to her head sent her unconscious, as Sera shouted from her place on the ledge.

* * *

When Evelyn came to, the first thing she realised was that she was no longer in the red templar base. It was dark and quiet in the cave she was laid in, and her only company was Solas, sitting next to her on a rock with a small bag of healing balms.

With startling clarity, Evelyn realised she felt fine. Too fine.

“I should not be here.”

“You are awake.”

“I should not be. That wound was too serious.” Evelyn sat up on the bedroll, the only pain in her body being her joints from where she had not moved for several hours. Realising she was not wearing her armour, she yanked open the front of her tunic and looked down at her chest and stomach. Two fresh scars dotted her torso, but there was nothing like the gaping holes that should have been there.

“It was not as bad as you seem to think. Nothing I could not heal, and I am less skilled a healer than you.” Solas had looked away when she checked her chest, but he looked back once she had let go of her tunic and handed her a balm.

She took it gratefully, and tried her best not to look at him too suspiciously. At the rate the battle had been going, she should have either suffocated or bled out long before Solas would have been able to get to her. She could remember the feel of both lyrium spikes entering her chest and exiting her back; they were not minor wounds and although she considered Solas a very accomplished healer, he was not _that_ good.

“Where are the others?”

“They returned to the shrine. They cleared it out before we brought you to the cave, but have returned in hope of finding the tools which the tranquil used to make Samson’s armour.”

“There was a tranquil? What happened to him?”

“He poisoned himself with blightcap essence. We could not have saved him.” The look on Solas’ face told Evelyn all she needed to know about his opinion on the loss of the tranquil; a wasted life, and Evelyn thought it odd that a tranquil would poison himself to save Samson.

“Such a waste.” Solas hummed in agreement, before he stood up to move to the back of the cave. He returned with her leather armour in his hands.

“Can you stand? I think it time we return to the others. Your injuries were not severe, and I think it best we keep moving.”

Evelyn took her folded up gear from his hands and moved to stand up, certain that Solas was keeping quiet about _something_. She knew her injuries were severe, and the fact that she could stand now was unnerving her.

They met the others on the road, and Evelyn used Cullen’s frantic enquiry about her injury to pull him to the back of the line with Cassandra.

“How soon after I fell did he get to me?” Evelyn whispered as Cullen insisted on helping her up onto her horse.

“Five, ten minutes?” Cullen mounted his own horse, as Cassandra manoeuvred her own to Evelyn’s left. It was clear which of the three of them had grown up learning to ride, if Cassandra’s nearly regal posture was anything to go by.

“We were busy trying to make sure you weren’t skewered twice to count properly. Why, what are you thinking?” Cassandra kept her voice low, but Sera, Solas and the scouts were far enough ahead that they would not be overheard easily.

“Have I ever told you that I find your dry humour absolutely hilarious?”

“The feeling is mutual, Inquisitor.”

“I should have bled out. I should have suffocated. At the very least, I should have more of a scar than I do, and I definitely should not be fit enough to ride a horse. I have an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.” Evelyn was certain she should trust her gut, though she was uncertain what it was saying.

“Perhaps his proficiency at healing spells has grown. It has been a while since your last serious injury.” Evelyn thought Cullen’s answer reasonable, but not quite right. Cassandra sighed.

“My advice? Speak to Leliana. If she investigates she is more likely to find something than you are, and we need the team to be unified for when we head for the Arbor Wilds. But I do not think there is anything out of the ordinary.”

Evelyn conceded, and Cassandra rode ahead to the others to give her and Cullen some time together.

* * *

 

“We’d best get moving, preferably before your soldiers reduce the forest to ash.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes.

“Lady Morrigan, might I congratulate you on actually possessing a sense of humour even _drier_ than Cassandra’s. I never thought I would see the day.”

“I am honoured, truly.”

“Ugh.”

Evelyn barked out a laugh as they made their way down the forest path, finding it far emptier than they were expecting. Cullen had gone ahead to the temple with the bulk of the soldiers, and most of the way had been cleared. They were only fighting stragglers, though the further in they got, the more red templars there were.

Evelyn was stopped halfway down the track when Sera, to her surprise, yanked on the collar of her coat and pulled her to a stop.

“Sera?”

“Shh, quiet. Something not quite right over there.” Sera moved to the tree line and disappeared among the shadows, and Evelyn looked towards the cluster of trees far down the road where Sera had motioned with her head. True enough, there was something odd with the way it appeared to her, shimmering in front of her eyes.

Cassandra’s armour clinking as she moved almost distracted them, but Evelyn noticed when an arrow was shot from the trees near where Sera had disappeared, and the body of an armoured man fell to the floor. They rushed down the road to where Sera reached the body first, arriving just as she yanked her arrow from the eye socket of an elf.

“How did you even see him?”

“Pfft, wouldn’t be much of a shooter if I didn’t see shite like this now, would I?”

Evelyn gave her a conceding smile, before kneeling down to take a closer look at the elf. Sera kept her eyes on the forest around them.

“It has nothing to do with superior elvhen eyesight, I am sure.” Solas muttered under his breath, and Evelyn held back a laugh as she examined the armour for any identifying marks.

“There’s nothing to identify whose side he’s on. Where did he come from?” His facial features were strange, though there was something in the upper face that seemed familiar. Evelyn cocked her head, confused as to whose side he had been fighting on. Morrigan gave her a look that was too knowing.

“Perhaps the Eluvian is not all that waits in that temple, Inquisitor.”


	14. Temple

As they ran towards the final clearing at the entrance of the temple, the fighting died down. Evelyn cast a large barrier around the scouts fighting the remnants of the Red Templars, but it appeared that the distraction of the elves at the tents had slowed them down enough to miss the majority of it.

Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Cullen finishing off a _huge_ red templar warrior, thankful that there had been no dire injuries to any of the soldiers she had come across on the half-day trek through the forest.

Cullen gave her a brief smile as she approached, before he continued surveying the clearing to be sure nothing was left that was a threat. When he deemed it safe, he glanced back at her as she came to a stop in front of him.

“Inquisitor.”

“Report?”

“They’re here, and they’re in the temple. Corpyheus _and_ Samson followed their templars in about fifteen minutes ago. You’ll need to hurry; I don’t think the elves can hold them off long.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.

“Elves? You’ve seen them too?”

Cullen gave a snort.

“Seen them? They were fighting us for a good hour before they realised the Red Templars were the bigger threat, and then they retreated into the temple. I’ve never seen the like of them before.”

“Neither have we. If anything happens in that temple, Commander, order a retreat. If that dragon comes, move into the tree line, _anything_ to keep the soldiers as safe as is realistically possible.”

Cullen looked all the world like the last thing he would ever do would be to retreat whilst Evelyn and her party were in the temple, but he nodded all the same. Quickly, he placed a reassuring hand onto her bicep and squeezed.

“Be safe.”

“We’ll try. See you on the other side, Commander.”

* * *

“Argh! How is _anyone_ supposed to get past this?!” Evelyn threw her staff on the floor of the temple in frustration; the two tiles it clattered across lit up at the contact, before twelve lit tiles went cold and grey again.

Evelyn let loose another frustrated screech.

“Perhaps we _should_ just follow Samson through the hole in the floor.” Cassandra piped up, and a bored Sera agreed from her perch on the wall between the final, giant puzzle.

“No! If we ignore the rites of the temple we are no better than Corpyheus.” Morrigan was right, she knew, but her frustration was beyond anything she had ever experienced.

Evelyn glared at her staff before kicking it at the wall, her face red from anger, frustration, and repeated running around the puzzle trying to get it right.

“I almost don’t care! How does any of this make sense? Why is there a wall, how would any _normal_ person know the two _separate parts of the floor separated by a big wall_ were the same unlocking mechanism?”

“You will find a way, Inquisitor.” Solas meant to be encouraging, but Evelyn was only growing more frustrated.

“We do not have the _time_ to ‘find a way’! With Corypheus on one side of the doors and Samson ahead of us, probably destroying every elf he comes across, we cannot waste time here.” Evelyn picked the staff up and leaned her weight on it, aware of two tiles lighting up before dimming again.

“We need to just bite our tongues and go down the hole. Who knows how close Samson is to the well.”       

From their place at the bottom of the stairs, Morrigan and Solas both shook their heads, and the latter spoke up.

“I have been keeping an eye on the route you have taken around it, Inquisitor, and I think you _can_ do it. One more attempt could not hurt, at any rate.”

Evelyn was not facing him, and so Solas did not see her eyes narrow a little in irritation. She kept her voice light when she replied, to avoid his suspicion.

“Go on then; but only one more attempt.”

She was not the least bit surprised when it worked.

* * *

The Red Templar plunging his blade into Sera’s thigh and swiftly removing, just as the battle was drawing to a close, had _not_ been planned for  _at all_.

Sera’s scream of rage and pain had been the only warning, and both Solas and Evelyn had opened themselves up to being killed when they left themselves open at the awful sound. If not for the sentinel’s being on their side, they probably would have been injured.

“Shite, shite, you fucker. Am I gonna die? You shitting-“

“Sera, _calm down_ , you’ll make the bleeding worse!”

“How the fuck can I do that-“

“That’s an _order_. Solas, _do something_.” The panic on Evelyn’s face was heart-wrenching and, as the chaos of the battle went on around them, Solas tried to stop the bleeding with pressure to her upper thigh. Sera was drifting in and out of consciousness by that point, and Evelyn was desperately trying to find the wound in order to heal it.

“It is her femoral, Inquisitor, I am not sure I can heal it!” Solas yelled over the sounds of Samson’s ravings, and Evelyn almost growled at him in response.

“If you healed me, you can heal her! You and I both know you’re far more powerful than you have ever let on to the Inquisition, now do it!”

Solas’ eyes narrowed in suspicion at her words, and for a moment Evelyn thought he would fight her accusation, but Evelyn knew she had the better ability to stare him down, and he relented.

“Cover me.”

Evelyn did, using her magic to erect large walls of fire around them so that no Templars could easily break through to Solas and Sera. It meant she could not quite see what he was doing, but she did not care. She was tired of secrets and ulterior motives, and could easily direct her anger at Morrigan once she got a hold of the infuriating woman.

She set a barrier around the three of them when she felt her arms aching with the speed she was swinging her staff around, but Samson was beginning to lag and she could see only one other Red Templar alive. She aimed to cast immolate in his direction, but to her horror found the flame sputtering into nothingness at his feet.

The Templar, aware now she was aiming for it, headed towards her, and Evelyn desperately cast a fireball, but that too fizzed out long before it hit its target. Fear overtook her as she swung her staff in horror, praying the barrage of electricity would slow it down.

It did not, and as it advanced Evelyn tried one last time to cast a wall of fire, certain it would work as her others had, but she may as well have tried to cast it beneath a waterfall. The flames refused to come through no matter how hard she tried to pull the magic to her.

Her eyes darted over to Samson, where Cassandra and the sentinels almost had him down, and she hoped that they would be done with him quick enough to help her. She swung her staff at the templar hoping to hit him hard enough to stun him, and though she whacked the solid end off the side of his skull, it did not hurt him like it would a normal man.

Samson fell to his knees as the Templar’s blade hit its target.

* * *

“Are you sure we should be stopping for the night? Another day of hard riding and we can be back at Skyhold.”

Leliana rolled her eyes as Varric and Cole unrolled their bedrolls on the floor beside her.

“I am sure the Inquisitor is _fine_ , Cullen. Skyhold will last one more day: give everyone a chance to rest. We do not even know for sure if they are at Skyhold.”

“You saw the blood in the temple, Leliana: you must know one of them is badly injured, at least.” Cullen quipped a reply, but Leliana’s face did not change from its exasperated expression.

“I am well aware, but charging back will do no one any good. We are already ahead of our return schedule; one night’s rest will not kill us.”

As she spoke she noticed Cole’s eyes wander to the edge of the clearing they were setting up camp in, before the man slowly edged off towards it.

Most of the inner circle had chosen to return with the advisors, and so the merry party of nine were making good progress through the Frostbacks back to Skyhold. It was a clearing Leliana was sure she had camped in before, over a decade ago, en-route to Orzammar with a decidedly different ragtag group.

Josephine and Dorian were attempting to set up a tent near the tree line, and Leliana noted it was odd to see Josephine in her travelling clothes after so long in her ambassador clothing. Blackwall and Iron Bull had set up their bedrolls on either side of the area where the tent was, choosing to forgo the tent in favour of sleeping under the stars. Leliana saw right through their ruse, however: both were far too used to protecting themselves and though neither preferred to sleep in the open, sleeping in a muffled tent was worse.

Vivienne had her own, vastly cleaner, tent set up close to the fire, and Leliana could almost _see_ before her Morrigan’s secluded camp from so many years ago.

“We leave at dawn.” Cullen’s voice brought her back to the present, and she rolled her eyes fondly before letting the man retreat to his own bedroll next to the fire.

She _almost_ flinched when Cole appeared suddenly next to her.

“I _wish_ you would stop doing that.”

“Cold and scared, she waited here for you, certain you would try to make contact. But then the singing stopped, and she had to go west.”

Leliana felt her heart dropping into her stomach at those words, understanding very well what Cole was trying to say to her. She had been prepared to try to make contact with Mahariel before they stormed Adamant, but a Tranquil Evelyn had seen no logic in the attempt, and without an order to do so Leliana did not find the time to make contact on her own.

“How long did she wait?” Leliana’s voice was quiet, unheard even by Varric, who was trying his hardest not to look like he was listening.

“She clutches the amulet, cold, _just one more day and then I’ll go_ , but the music quietens, and there is no more reason to stay. The Warden leaves a message, atop the hole only she is allowed to dig.”

At the gentle tone of his voice, Leliana found herself remembering the clearing all too well. Whether the sudden smell of tainted blood was her imagination or something stirred up by Cole, she was not certain, but Leliana knew what she would find at the western edge of the clearing.

The oak tree was only small, the trunk skinny in comparison to the trees around it, but the circle of stones on the floor was large enough to accommodate the oak’s trunk for up to a century. She was relieved that a tree had grown at all: Leliana had been certain that the blighted body beneath it would prevent all life around it. It was far enough away from the tree line that it could be easily identified as separate, and the square stone slab at the front of the ring looked as though it had been removed and put back since the last time she saw it.

Shale had helped to detach the slab from a nearby boulder, Leliana recalled; it had been an unusually kind gesture from their resident golem. She knelt down in front of the slab, briefly traced her fingers over the rough elvhen carvings, and dug her nails underneath it as much as she could. It was not deep, but it still took a minute of Leliana pulling to yank it free, and when it was in her hands she looked at the hole she had left. The slab was hollow, and on the ground before her was a large, damp envelope and a chantry amulet.

“ _I’ve always loved you_. Her heart breaks when the dagger strikes tainted flesh, guilt clawing her for leaving him in the ruin. His name was Tamlen. She loved him, but she loved you too.”

Leliana’s smile was soft as she listened to Cole, but the words were still painful. It had taken months for Mahariel to mourn her old lover and move on, and their budding relationship had taken a blow that took a while to recover from. She opened the envelope to find two smaller ones enclosed: they too were damp, but when she unfolded the letter addressed to her she was relieved to see the writing was still legible. Leliana placed a gloved hand onto the grave, feeling awful at the idea of her love waiting alone in the clearing. The topic of Tamlen would always be a difficult one for Mahariel, and it would have been painful to wait for Leliana here.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty. She knows you are busy, helping where she cannot.”

“Please, Cole, not now.” Her voice gave nothing away to anyone that could have been eavesdropping (and none were, she was too far away from the centre of camp), but Cole took the hint nonetheless and moved off to try once more to talk to Cullen.

Leliana looked down at the letters, noticing the other one was addressed to Evelyn. She checked the writing was legible on that one, before she pocketed them both and informed Cullen that she was going for a quick walk.

She read both the letters, of course.


	15. Sorrow

Solas met her in the throne room, which was utterly deserted so early in the morning. With most of the soldiers in the Arbor Wilds, and the nobles gone alongside them to command their own armies, Skyhold was all but deserted.

He closed the door to her quarters, and met her at the end of one of the long tables.

“She will live. She will not walk for a month, at least, but she will live.”

Evelyn deflated into her chair, the relief in the air palpable. She had given Solas and Sera her quarters and her bed, and so had been waiting downstairs for the better part of a day and a half. She had not been able to sleep, plagued by nightmares and visions of blood spilling onto a marbled floor.

“Oh thank the Maker.”

“Do you need your wounds healing?”

Evelyn nodded, and indicated the scab on her face and the bandages wrapped around her arm.

“The head wound I can heal quickly, though it will scar. As for the arm, I can heal until it scabs over, but it is too deep to heal completely with the little mana I have left.”

She only smiled in agreement with him, and breathed a sigh of relief when his cool fingers touched her temple. The tightness under her eye faded, and the puffiness from the swelling diminished. Her arm was dealt with just as quickly, and Evelyn happily removed the bandages to let it air out. As Solas stood up to leave, he turned to level her with a look.

“In the Temple you said you knew I was more powerful than I appeared. I trust you to keep quiet.” His words were sincere, but Evelyn was not stupid. Years as a tranquil had taught her to look at every word objectively, and she knew the meaning behind his words.

I helped you, so you help me.

She sighed: she knew he was not threatening her or Sera. He was probably the most trustworthy of the people she had behind her, besides Cassandra and Dorian, and she trusted him with her life. She knew he was hiding things, things she had no business prying into, but outside of that had he ever wronged her? She nodded in acknowledgement, though her expression was sad.

“Will you at least tell me what you are?”

“I think you already know, Inquisitor.”

And she did, if she thought hard about it. His resemblance to Abelas and the other sentinels was not surprising, in hindsight, and he carried himself as they did; gracefully, quietly, with a presence that appeared to tower over everyone else. The only thing missing was the facial tattoos.

“I do.”

“As I thought.”

He turned to leave again, but Evelyn reached out a hand to grab at his wrist.

“Solas, you are a dear friend, and I cannot bear to think I have ruined that by telling you that I know. Please, promise me that our friendship has not changed.”

There was something sorrowful in his gaze as he looked down at her, his eyes running from her hand on his wrist up to her eyes, and he shook his head.

“I risked discovery when I could not let you die in the shrine to Dumat. I respect you deeply, Evelyn, but I cannot risk you finding out more when you already know too much. I am sorry.”

* * *

 

“You know.”

Evelyn let out a scream into the empty hall when Cole appeared on the table in front of her, unexpected in the post-midnight hours. She nearly tipped the candle over, but Cole saved it with his hand when the papers she was working on went flying.

It had been four nights since her conversation with Solas, and each night she was kept awake by nightmares and whispers of what she had seen in the temple. She could not shake it, and she so she had resorted to doing exactly what she scolded Cullen for doing: stayed up late working on paperwork to avoid her dreams.

She moved the candle out of the way of Cole, and folded her arms on the table.

“What do I know, Cole?”

“I’m not allowed to speak of it, but you don’t know all of it. You know most of it though, how pride and sorrow are similar. I liked sorrow, but he made me sad.”

“Cole, I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

Cole paused, pondering, frustration evident on his face as he looked at her. He gave a pointed look over to the rotunda, and it clicked.

“Wait, _you knew_? All this time you _knew_?” Indignation was plain on her face, and Cole looked pained.

“I can’t talk of it; I’m not allowed to. I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

Evelyn stood up, her face confused, and motioned for Cole to follow her. He did, following her through the door out of the throne room and down the stairs to the kitchen level. She took him through to her private library, and seated him in the chair.

“You know Solas is an ancient elf, but you can’t talk about it? Do you mean you literally _cannot_ talk about it?”

Cole nodded, the wide brim of his hat moving with the motion. Evelyn ran her hand over her face, disbelief beginning to form. It was one thing for her to think it, and quite another for _Cole_ to confirm it.

“He is confused, concerned, and hurting. Sera lives at the cost of a friendship that cannot be real in the first place. You know, but you don’t judge him for it: he doesn’t know what to do with that.”

Evelyn began to pace, a sadness echoing in her ribcage. It felt like the breath had been knocked out of her, and she could barely believe the last few days had even happened.

“I can’t help him there, Cole.”

“I know. But I think it’s good that you know about him.”

Evelyn smiled, but soon folded her arms over her chest and levelled another question.

“The elves from the Temple, can you feel them? I feel awful, it was my actions that sent Corypheus to their home, and then their well was taken and their temple all but demolished.”

Cole nodded, and after what felt like an age he spoke again.

“They plant the trees over their dead, and they are sad. They have no duty, no history to protect any more. You extended them an offer, but they are not sure they will take it. They are free for the first time in their lives. I liked them, I hope they find a purpose.”

Evelyn smiled, the pain and guilt in her chest lightening just a little at Cole’s words. The man swung his legs from the chair, and stood up.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you. They will be here soon.”

Considering the last time Cole had turned up out of nowhere saying ‘they’re coming’, it was no surprise that her face drained of colour at the words. Realising, he shook his head.

“No, that was wrong. Cullen and Leliana and Josephine and the others. They are in the valley now.”

* * *

 

They reached Skyhold in the early hours of the morning. With the full moon above the hold the area was bright, and it was not difficult to see. They could see from the bridge that the gate was open, and looking up allowed them to see the skeleton crew manning the battlements.

Evelyn met them in the courtyard, looking smaller without her armour. Her hair was ragged and pulled back into a bun on the top of her head, and one of the shawls that Dorian had gifted her was wrapped around her shoulders. Even in the dimmer light Cullen could see the withdrawn expression on her face as they approached, and he and Leliana immediately dismounted their horses.

As he approached he embraced her, holding her tightly to him as relief washed over him in waves. All the blood at the temple, he had been convinced it was hers, and to see her standing before him gave him such relief it was nearly obscene.

“You’re alive.” He held her face in his hands, and only then did he notice the fresh scar running along her temple. It moved from just under her eye, across her temple, and into her hairline. “What happened?”

“Templar hit me with a spiked gauntlet. If it had hit me straight on, I’d have lost the eye: as it was, the skin split from the force, but that is all.” Evelyn untucked her arms from under the shawl, and showed him a jagged scab running down the length of her arm. “Same Templar. It is healing well, however, and there’s no trace of Lyrium infection.”

Cullen held her close again, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair as Leliana spoke up.

“Inquisitor, if the blood at the Temple was not all yours, who else was injured?” There was worry in Leliana’s voice, most of it for Cassandra. Evelyn grimaced, and something dark flashed behind her eyes before she straightened her posture.

“It was Sera’s.”

Cullen felt his heart all but drop into his stomach, and a brief look of fear was evident on Leliana’s face.

“Is she…?”

Evelyn shook her head.

“Maker no, she made it through. A templar managed to get close enough to run his sword through her thigh, and it severed an artery, but we got to her in time. It has been close, the last few days, but she will live. The muscle damage will take longer to repair, however.”

Cullen felt another wave of relief; he was not close to Sera by any means, but he was fond of her, even if he could never make _sense_ of her. He was thankful that she was alive, though he felt pity for the others as well: a bed-bound Sera was likely very irritable.

Leliana stepped closer as Cullen looked up to the lit balcony on the top tower, and her face was scrutinising Evelyn’s.

“What else are you not telling us, Inquisitor?”

Evelyn shifted uncomfortably.

“The elves in the Temple, did they get out alright?”

Cullen looked at her, his head cocked to the side a little in curiosity.

“There were not many of them, but I got the feeling they were gathering in a room we could not access. Why?”

Evelyn hesitated for a moment, and Cullen did not realise it was possible for her to become more downcast than she already was. She made herself look smaller, and Cullen felt like he already knew what was coming.

“The Well in front of the Eluvian would have been gone when you arrived, but it was full when we reached the top. We discovered when we entered the Temple that it protected far more than the Eluvian: the Well of Sorrows was what the Sentinels were to protect, and the Well contained the essence and knowledge of thousands of dead elvhen priests. At least, I think that’s what it was.”

Giving her the benefit of the doubt, Cullen motioned for her to continue. Leliana was already running a hand through her hair.

“Morrigan wanted to drink from it, but the sentinel, Abelas, he was so desperate for her not to. He could see that she only wanted it to further her own gain, and he was so _sorrowful_ that it was going to go into her hands. And Morrigan was ready to kill him for it.”

“But she did drink from it, didn’t she? Has she turned against us?” Cullen marvelled at how little trust Leliana had in the woman, considering that when he met them a decade ago he thought they had gotten along rather well. Evelyn chewed her lip.

“Morrigan did not drink from the Well. I did.”


	16. Guide

“Let me get this straight: you encountered a well of ancient magic, or thoughts or whatever it was, and you were told that doing so would bound you to the service of an ancient elvhen god. And then, when Morrigan offered to take this _huge_ risk upon herself and let you go free of it, _you chose to drink from the well instead?”_

Evelyn flinched at Cullen’s words, harsh and to the point as they were. She had heard it from Cassandra already, but it stung to see his disapproval nonetheless.

They had moved to the War Room, to start planning their next move.

“That just about covers it, yes.”

“Oh well, fantastic. Seeker, why didn’t you stop her?” Cullen turned on Cassandra, who stood with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in his direction. Evelyn knew from the look on her face that _one_ of them was going to get a dressing down.

“Why would I have stopped her, Commander? She is not a child, and I am not her mother, Cullen. I argued against it, but it was the Inquisitor’s decision in the end. As for being bound to this goddess, I do not believe she exists. If she ever did, she is long gone.”

Evelyn felt the tension drain from her shoulders, thankful that Cassandra at least had forgiven her. Leliana nodded in agreement from her place at the table. Cullen, however, was not finished.

“I understand that reasoning, but _why_ didn’t you let Morrigan take from the well? It would have removed all risk to yourself.”

Evelyn shook her head.

“You weren’t there, Cullen. You didn’t _see_ what we saw. Men and women who have spent thousands of years protecting that place, preserving it. It was the physical history of the elves, and though the Sentinels did not seem to appreciate their descendants, it was still magnificent inside. And they’d spent their lives protecting it, and Morrigan would have taken it without delay. Their leader was Abelas, and he was so _sorrowful_ that she was going to just take their history, and believe me, she had the knife at the ready. I would have let him destroy it, but she would have killed him first. I may not have been what he preferred to hand it over to, but I was a much better alternative to them than Morrigan, and I couldn’t just let her take their history and then sneak off with it when we’re finished.”

And it was true. Evelyn could not think back to the temple without feeling sadness for the elves, whose temple she had led forces into and allowed Corypheus to smash it open and murder over half of them. She felt sorrow for taking the well, but she knew she could not, in good faith, allow Morrigan to take it.

“I concur. This way, _we_ possess the knowledge of the well.” Leliana spoke up, her eyes narrowed as she spoke, and Evelyn knew she was thinking of how little she could trust Morrigan. It confused her, for she had thought the women would have at least been friends after travelling and fighting a blight together.

Cullen sighed, running a hand over his face as Josephine reluctantly agreed with Leliana.

“What’s done is done, I suppose. But I still don’t think you should have done it.” The look he levelled her with told her she was not quite out of it yet.

“So what do we do now?” Evelyn posed the question, aware that the war room meeting had been called for far more than just a debate over her drinking from the well.

“We wait. The army will not return from the Arbor Wilds for at least a month, and the scouts should take just under that. Our noble allies have been advised to return to their homes, at least for now, in case Corypheus attacks Skyhold. We cannot leave, but we are hoping that Corypheus will wait until he has amassed enough of a force to come out of hiding.” Leliana handed the relevant reports to Evelyn, who took them with a sharp nod.

As she took them from Leliana’s hand she felt something stirring in her mind, the voices that had kept her awake for nearly a week making themselves known. A hand went to her temple as she felt the pain behind her right eye, the feeling not dissimilar to a headache.

_He will not wait._

The whispers were muffled, as though spoken through a door, but what alarmed Evelyn was that this was the first time they had spoken in _common_. Everything had been either garbled or scraps of elvhen.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Leliana looked concerned, but Evelyn only nodded.

“Corypheus won’t wait.”

“Did…did the well tell you that?” Josephine looked a little confused as she spoke, uncertain how to refer to what was essentially the voices in Evelyn’s head.

“Yes. It is…strange, it’s never spoken to me in the common tongue before.”

“Keep listening, Inquisitor. If it can tell you about Corypheus, then you must listen. Meanwhile, I will send a message to the scouts to try to return as soon as possible. If Corypheus will not wait, we cannot afford to do nothing.” Leliana immediately moved to leave the room, with Cassandra and Josephine following, the latter getting ready to check in with their closest allies. It left Evelyn and Cullen in the room.

“I’m sorry I took from the well, but-“

“Shh, not now, Evelyn. I am not happy that you took from the Well, but it was _your_ decision in the end, even if I disagree with it. We can discuss it later.”

Evelyn smiled, and moved around the table to give him a kiss. It was warm and sweet, but ultimately far too quick as Cullen gently pulled away.

“Are you alright? You’ve seemed off since we came back.”

Evelyn leaned against the table, her left hand gripping the fur of Cullen’s mantle, and sighed.

“I am having a crisis of faith. After everything in the temple, I am reminded that there was once a world where _none_ of this existed: no Maker, no Andraste. As a tranquil, I didn’t believe: there was no logic behind belief, and no emotions within which faith could take root. When I came to, after Adamant, it seemed that all this could have only come from the Maker and Andraste, and I started to believe again. But now, I’m not so sure. How do I represent Andraste when I have encountered elves alive long before the Maker was ever a spark of a thought?”

Cullen could see the crisis in her face, in the sadness and guilt behind her eyes. Whatever had happened in the temple had a great impact upon her, and he could not answer her questions.

Instead he shook his head, strong in own faith but uncertain how to help her with hers, and he pulled her close to his chest. His armour was cool beneath her cheek, but she wound her arms around him and allowed herself a moment of comfort. They stayed there for a few minutes, him comforting her by rubbing slow circles on her back as she leaned against him deep in thought.

They were stopped when one of Leliana’s scouts burst into the room.

“Inquisitor, Leliana needs you in Lady Morrigan’s room immediately!”

* * *

 

When the scout had directed her to Morrigan’s storage room –and not her bedroom as she had first thought- she could never have predicted this.

And now, the voices in her head were screaming in recognition and delight, and she was stood in front of _Mythal_ with her hand tightly wrapped around Morrigan’s wrist and her mana drained. And she was muttering out pleasantries to the powerful woman.

Mythal, the elven _goddess_ , who now had complete and utter control of her body. Because _she_ drank from the well.

“You see girl? Those are manners, as you require a demonstration.” There was an edge to Flemeth’s voice, a sarcasm that Evelyn would likely have delighted in under any other circumstances.

“I require nothing from you but your death!”

“Ah, but you tried that once already, and see how far it got you?”

The whispers were recoiling at the ice in her words just as they rejoiced at the quick wit, and Evelyn felt as though she were in the middle of a pissing contest without knowing how she got there in the first place. It was surreal, completely beyond reality that she was standing in the middle of a family feud that included _an elven goddess_. In a human’s body, no less!

Evelyn did not even need to consult the voices of the well when Flemeth – no, _Mythal_ – asked her: it was as though the door in her mind that kept them at the back had slammed open. There was no denying the truth of her words.

She rubbed her wrist when her control was given back to her, and she could only watch the exchange as it went on before her. Her answers were half conscious, her fascination warring with her urge to simply listen and _learn_ , and she wondered why she had never found elvhen history so interesting until the last month of her life. This would all make much more _sense_ if she had a concept of it.

“Be thankful you did not drink, Morrigan. Imagine, bound to your _dear_ mother for eternity.” The laugh shook Evelyn from her thoughts, and her stomach dropped in terror at the woman’s words. Her laugh was powerful and bone-chilling, and Evelyn realised she really _was_ bound to this woman, body and soul, for the rest of her days.

She was beginning to wish she’d listened to Abelas.

“Kieran is just a _child_. I don’t know what you think he is, but he is still a child.”

“And so much better behaved than his mother was, at that age.”

Evelyn just could not _believe_ this was happening: this woman’s wit could not be real, _she_ could not be real. She expected to wake up any moment, and she pinched her wrist to try.

She noted every part of what happened next between Kieran and Flemeth, knowing that when she returned the first thing she would do if she had the time would be to research it. Something passed between the two of them, a literal passing of essence if she was watching it properly, but she could not name it.

“No more dreams?”

Flemeth smiled, and it was an oddly kind look from the woman Evelyn was currently terrified of.

“No more dreams.” Kieran squeezed her hands and let go to return to his mother, and Flemeth straightened her posture to look at Evelyn and Morrigan.

“A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in any danger from me.” And then that golden gaze was directed right at Evelyn, and she felt the compulsion to obey stirring within her. “As for you, Inquisitor, there is an ancient altar deep within a shaded wood. Summon the dragon that is its guardian. Master her in combat, and she is yours to command against Corypheus. Fail, and you die.”

Somehow, those words did not comfort Evelyn, and she moved forward to stop Flemeth from leaving.

“How am I supposed to know where this is?”

Flemeth only inclined her head in her direction, a small smirk on her lips.

“I have already sent you a guide.”

* * *

 

When she returned to her quarters that evening, Evelyn was tired enough that she wasn’t paying attention as she wandered up the stairs. Sera had finally been moved back to her own rooms and Evelyn’s quarters were stripped and cleaned of the blood and bandages, and the entire room smelt of lemon and soap as she opened the door.

She was reading the reports from their keeps, thick wads of annotated notes from Cullen describing everything from the varghest problem in the Western Approach to the encroaching dragon in Crestwood. The bridge in Emprise du Lions was finally finished, but there was no _time_ to go visit them, to try to solve the problems of her Inquisition. They were caught in a waiting game, waiting and watching for the final moment.

They were standing on a knife edge, and Corypheus held the sword.

The braziers were lit, casting the room and staircase in a bright glow, and Evelyn lifted the hem of her dress as she moved up the stairs. The doors to both of her balconies were open, and the room was cool, if a little too cold. The moon and the braziers cast long shadows across the floor, and Evelyn realised just how late it was. She sighed, noting to herself that she was going to have to start convincing Cullen to come to her room for at least _half_ of their nights together.

She dropped the papers as she came to the top stair, and briefly bent down to grab them and place them on the cabinet next to her bed. It looked warmer and inviting than it usually did, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up beneath the blankets and beg for sleep. The voices in her head were swirling, whispering in a mix of ancient elvhen and the common tongue, adapting to her thought process and reacting in kind. It had been doing so since it first spoke in her language that morning, and it was terrifying to think the well had enough power to be able to adapt like that.

Her crisis of faith was returning, with the information gleaned from Flemeth making her even more sick to her stomach. She was now bound to an elvhen goddess who could control her every movement, and no doubt see into her very thoughts if she wished: it was the only way she could imagine Flemeth knowing they were in Skyhold in the first place. She tried to ask the well, though their whispers were quieter now that Flemeth was gone.

Before she could tune in again, to listen to the whispers, something shifted in the corner of her room as she placed the papers down.

Evelyn turned, and froze.

She had never seen the woman who sat at her desk before, but even still she knew that face. From the well-fitted but aged scout armour to the wry smirk and dark hair and darker eyes, hers was a face that most of southern Thedas would recognise. Her cheeks were tanned but the green vallaslin, identical to the one worn by the Sentinels in Mythal’s temple, stood starkly on her face.

“Inquisitor.”

The woman’s voice was calm as it travelled across the room from her seat at the desk, and Evelyn inclined her head.

“Warden Commander.”


	17. Mahariel

Evelyn moved closer to her desk, bizarrely feeling as though she were being given an audience in her own rooms. Mahariel’s smile was warm and comfortable as she sat back in Evelyn’s chair, looking for all the world as though she belonged there.

“I’m surprised you recognised me, Inquisitor.”

“Almost all of southern Thedas must know your face on description alone.” Evelyn smiled back at her, attempting to assuage any potential awkwardness despite feeling like she did not belong in her own room. Mahariel straightened in her seat and laughed.

“You say that, Inquisitor, but I spent two days in Val Royeaux last week and not a soul looked at me twice. Apart from curiosity at the knife-ear buying the frilly cakes in full armour.” Evelyn grinned and titled her head in agreement, before she looked at Mahariel in curiosity.

“How did you get in here?”

Mahariel rose from the desk at Evelyn’s question, that easy smile still on her face, and beckoned towards the balcony. Evelyn followed her as she walked out onto it.

“I climbed. You may want to resurface your tower. Or, alternatively, keep the balcony doors locked.” She leaned against the balcony, and in the light of the braziers Evelyn could analyse her properly.

The years must have been kind to Mahariel, as they tended to be when it came to elves. She did not quite look her forty-two years, but with the elvhen wide eyes and almost pixie-like features it seemed almost natural that she retained some youthfulness. Her hair was tied back into one thin braid, and Evelyn could see in the firelight beginnings of grey that started at her ears. Besides that, however, she matched every description the tales told of her, right down to the Dalish scout armour that she wore instead of the standard Grey Warden colours. Her eyes kept wandering to the stark green vallaslin on her face, and she knew that Mahariel was her guide to the altar.

“I take it you are the guide Flemeth asked to lead us to the Altar?”

Mahariel laughed as she leaned against the balcony railing, looking out over the valley with interest in her eyes.

“You say ‘asked’, I say ‘politely threatened’. I guess I owe it to her, after I tried to kill her once.”

“ _Tried_ to?”

“Have you seen her shapeshift? I had no idea she could do it, and I just about pissed myself when the little old lady turned into a giant dragon with horns. We hid in the forest for an hour before I returned alone and nicely asked her for the book I needed.”

It was strange to hear the story from Mahariel’s lips: Morrigan had told her of Mahariel battling and killing her mother in order to take a grimoire from her possession. She wondered if Morrigan knew the truth.

“But why you? I mean no offense, but I heard from Leliana that you were going west.” Mahariel walked back into the room and Evelyn closed and locked the balcony door behind them, prompting a grin from the dark haired woman.

“Do you think it a coincidence that she sent me? Consider this: every great hero in this world has dealings with Flemeth, from Calenhad to Maric to Hawke, to you and to me. I don’t know _why_ she is so interested in what we do, but she is.”

Evelyn considered her for a moment, unable to tell if Mahariel knew the truths that she had learned that morning. With a grimace, she leaned against her bannister and cocked her head to the side.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Flemeth is the elvhen goddess Mythal. Or, she holds in her a part of Mythal, whatever she was.” Evelyn began to relay the events of the temple and of what had happened in the eluvian, and as she spoke Mahariel’s expression changed from curious to terrified to fascinated. Much like what Evelyn had felt, she supposed.

As Evelyn finished, Mahariel lowered herself onto the couch, a stunned expression on her face.

“Well, everything makes a bit more sense, I suppose. The dragon form, the horns she’s been sporting lately, the sudden request to take you to the altar of Mythal and perform the summoning. Creators, she must have thought it hilarious when she first saw my face.”

“I must admit, you’re taking this rather well.”

Mahariel shook her head.

“You forget I’m Dalish. I’ve been raised _knowing_ my gods were alive, but trapped. If anything, this should make me feel honoured, knowing that my patron goddess is free and I have had pleasant dealings with her. If anything, it’s these Sentinels you spoke of that I’m most curious about. I have wondered why my people never went in search of ruins where some of our ancestors could remain sleeping. And yet there’s a temple in Orlais with some of them alive and well? The things my people could learn, if we only opened our minds.” There was a bitter expression on her face as she cursed in elvhen, and Evelyn almost pitied her.

“How have you remained hidden for so long? As far as I am aware, you’ve been missing for two years.”

That question earned her a smirk.

“Leliana’s spy network may have been extensive even when she served Justinia, but she has no spies amongst the Dalish. I travelled with clans.”

“And after so long under the radar, you will just lead us to the altar and fight the dragon, just like that?” Evelyn’s words made Mahariel laugh outright, and the woman leaned back on the couch and crossed one leg over the other.

“I was never going to disobey Asha’bellanar, and that was before I knew she holds Mythal within her.” She made a brief motion to the vallaslin on her face. “As for the dragon, I will lead you to the Altar, but I hope you don’t expect me to fight the dragon: the archdemon was quite enough, and I was a lot younger then.”

“You’re hardly old, Warden-Commander.”

“No, but I am a lot wiser. And I would hope that you are wise enough to realise that if anything happens to me out there, you’d have to spend the rest of your days fleeing from Leliana.” Mahariel’s smile was fond, and Evelyn wondered if her spymaster knew her lover was in Skyhold.

“And I would hope that if the fight went south, you would help out.”

“Well of course, I’m not _that_ cruel.” Mahariel looked up at her and smiled a little distantly. “I don’t think I’ll stay for very long after, though. I was quite happily wandering through the Donarks before Asha’bellanar all but dragged me to the nearest eluvian and directed me to the arse-end of Orlais. There was a _varterral_. It was not pleasant.”

Evelyn no longer had any idea what Mahariel was talking about: she filed the word away to ask Solas about it later, if he would talk to her at all. She smiled down at Mahariel, wondering how many of her companions had come across her before.

How would Cassandra act, who admired her but did not hold half as much respect for her as she did Hawke? Or Cullen, who admitted to Evelyn that he had begged Mahariel to murder the mages at Kinloch Hold, something he was now grateful she had refused to do? And Sera, who confided in Evelyn a tale of a painted red box and a pretty elf handing her it through a doorway? Everyone seemed to be linked to each other somehow, and Evelyn was beginning to wonder the extent to which Flemeth was pulling the strings.

Still, she could not refuse the help of the Warden-Commander, and she did not wish to.

“Well then, Warden-Commander. You may stay at Skyhold as long as you wish, even after your quest here has finished.”

* * *

 

Leliana knew someone was lurking in the rookery before she had fully ascended the stairs. There was a smell in the air on the staircase, a mixture of old perfume and grass and wind, the smell that stuck to clothing after too long in the windy outdoors. The thin wire across the top of the door, virtually invisible to those who did not care to look, had been pulled out of place, and Leliana _knew_.

She moved into the room silently, one hand on the blade at her hip and the other working free the one at her wrist. The birds were silent, all eyes trained on the alcove near the boxes, and Leliana cocked her head in the direction in an attempt to see through the shadows.

As the shadows flickered, Leliana drew her blade, but before she could _do_ anything a large mass emerged from under the table and collided with her stomach, bowling her onto the floor before she could react.

Panic and the instinct to defend herself faded away at the lack of any aggression, and Leliana looked up to see her hands pushing at the broad chest of a familiar mabari. He was old, with a whitened muzzle and greying patches around his eyes, and he was desperately trying to move closer to lick her face with enthusiasm.

Leliana burst out laughing, a joyful sound that she was certain would surprise Dorian on the level below, and reached both arms up to pull the dog closer to her. He whined in happiness, nuzzling her neck and licking her face in delight as she ran her hands through his thick fur, a genuine giggle escaping her lips.

“Oh, my handsome boy! I never thought I’d see you again! And where is your partner?” The dog barked at her, and she held his muzzle in her hands and placed a kiss on his nose.

“He may be old, Leliana, but he’s got a good few years in him yet.” Mahariel emerged from near a set of boxes, a wide grin on her face, and Leliana felt her cheeks heat a little in embarrassment. Mahariel motioned for the dog to return to her heel, and he did so dutifully, though his eyes were locked on Leliana as he panted.

Mahariel held out a hand for Leliana to take, and as she was helped up from the floor she was pulled right into Mahariel’s arms and straight in for a kiss. Leliana kissed her deeply, as best as she could considering the wide grin on her face, and she felt Mahariel’s hands settle on her hips. The dog nosed at her knee, a tail wagging happily at seeing his partner reunited with her lover.

Mahariel pulled away first, a contented smile on her face, and lifted her hand up to push back Leliana’s hood. Her fingers stroked through her hair, gently tucking the single braid behind Leliana’s ear. Her smile was soft, and Leliana leaned into the touch with a sigh of content.

“Missed me?” It was half a joke and half an insecure question from Mahariel, but Leliana wound her arms around her lover and buried her nose into her hair. It smelt like the corridor, of wind and the outdoors.

“Always.”

They stayed holding onto each other for a minute or so, before Leliana detached herself from Mahariel and pulled her over to the table, forcing her to take a seat and then taking the one next to her. She moved it closer so their knees were touching.

“Why are you here? I got the letter you left with Tamlen, I thought you were heading west.” Mahariel took one of her hands into her own, and pulled Leliana’s glove off so she could touch her skin. Leliana laced their fingers together, and the mabari sat between their chairs, his heavy head resting where their knees touched.

“The guide that Flemeth told your Inquisitor she would send? That was me. She caught me on the other side of the Hunterhorn mountains and took me through one eluvian, and then out of another in the south of Orlais.”

“There is _another_ eluvian? Can Corypheus access it?” Leliana’s brow furrowed: none of her agents in the south had reported any elvhen ruins that contained an eluvian. Mahariel, however, shook her head.

“I got the impression that only she can unlock it, though now I know that it’s because _she_ is Mythal. It only lit up when she touched it in the Crossroads, and went dark the moment we stepped through.” Mahariel rested her other hand on the mabari’s head, and he closed his eyes at the touch.

“Can you remember where, exactly?”

Mahariel shook her head.

“Close to Val Royeaux: I spent a few days there trying to get directions to Skyhold. I also brought you some of those cakes you like.” Leliana all but beamed at her, and squeezed her hand.

“We have much to discuss, my love, but first you _must_ bring me those cakes.”

* * *

 

Mahariel was sitting on a bench in the garden, dressed in a borrowed pair of Inquisition scout clothing with a book open in her lap, when she saw Morrigan enter out of the corner of her eye. She noticed the dark haired woman stop abruptly and do a double take, before her hands came together nervously. Mahariel had taken her hair out of the braid and changed it to the hair bun she had favoured during the blight, and she had taken a seat in view of the doorway for this very purpose.

She did not look up, knowing that this conversation was entirely up to Morrigan. If the other woman wanted to come to her, then she was available, but she would not intrude upon her friend if she woman did not wish it.

Mahariel was still surprised nonetheless when Morrigan slowly made her way over, and the younger woman seated herself on the bench next to Mahariel. There was silence for a few moments, before Mahariel looked over in the direction of Kieran, sitting on the ground with the elvhen gardener and earnestly trying to learn from her.

“Is that him?”

Morrigan’s lips curled up into a small smile.

“Yes, he is my son.”

Mahariel gave a small laugh.

“I could tell the moment I looked at him. He’s completely you, I can’t see anything of Alistair in him.”

“You do not know how much joy that brings me.” Morrigan’s voice was dry, but the look in her eyes was fond, and Mahariel almost didn’t recognise the woman sitting next to her. She was so changed to the woman who had confessed friendship with such distress all those years ago.

“He’s a lovely boy, though he did laugh at my ‘large’ ears. He was fascinated with the rings.” Morrigan barked out a laugh at those words and shook her head.

“The elves in Orlais do not decorate themselves as your kind do. It is likely the first time he has seen them anywhere other than the lobes.”

They settled into a quiet silence, both of them deep in thought about the other, neither wishing to push but both wanting to repair the rift that had occurred at the eluvian a decade earlier.

“So, I take it you are taking a break from your admirable quest to cure the Wardens?”

Mahariel lowered her head, her eyes scanning around the garden for anyone that might be close enough to overhear. The only person in earshot was a young elvhen girl on her way to the prayer room.

“I don’t think I’ll go back to it.”

 _That_ took Morrigan by surprise.

“I take it your spymaster does not know this.”

“How do I tell her I’m giving up? It’s pointless, and all it’s doing is keeping me away from where I want to be. There are better quests, and with all that’s been learned about the elvhen gods lately, I think I’d rather help my own people.”

Morrigan sat back against the bench, her eyes on Kieran, and pondered her friend’s words.

“She will not like it.”

“Well what am I supposed to do, Morrigan? Spend the next twenty years looking for the cure, and fail, and end up having only spent days here and there with her? Fiona has no idea how she was cured, Avernus has disappeared off the face of the Thedas, and each time I try to get to lands the blight has never touched, _your mother_ sends me off course because it suits her fancy.”

Her gaze snapped back to Mahariel at that, surprise on her features, and Mahariel snorted.

“What, do you think your mother has spent the last ten years twiddling her thumbs in the darkness? I told the Inquisitor and Leliana that last week was the first time she came to me: it was not.”

There was confusion on Morrigan’s face, a dislike at not knowing what was going on behind the scenes, and she cocked her head at Mahariel.

“But why? Why do _you_ follow her will?”

“Because I have no choice. I owe her three times over. The first, for saving my life at Ostagar. The second, because I did not kill her when I went to get that grimoire for you. I took the grimoire in exchange for another debt. And the third, because Marethari owed her a debt that could never be repaid in full, the death of an entire Avvar hold. When she died, I offered to take on that debt if Flemeth would remove Ashalle from the Hinterlands and take her north, to a remote clan that has never left the forests.” Mahariel looked down at her palms, and then back up at Morrigan. “I think scouting out a few ruins here and there is not all bad, considering.”

“Are you spying for her now?”

Mahariel snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I really am just here to guide the Inquisitor to an altar.”

* * *

 

Her fury was loud enough to wake the entire keep, so early and quiet as it was.

“What do you mean, Blackwall is _gone_?”

They were standing on the stairs that led out of the main keep doors, fully dressed and ready to leave for the altar in the Arbor Wilds. Evelyn, Mahariel, Iron Bull, Solas, and Cassandra had been stopped by Cullen with an urgent message for Evelyn, and she could not quite believe it.

“I want you to repeat what you just said to me, and I don’t want it to include ‘Blackwall’ and ‘missing’.”

Cullen hesitated, and she could see the gears turning in his mind.

“No, no, this is _not_ happening. Where has he gone?”

“We don’t know, Evelyn. A scout saw him leaving this morning, and Leliana found this note in the stables. We have reason to suspect he’s heading to Val Royeaux.” Cullen handed it to her, and she pulled it from his fingers with the grace of an angry cat.

“A friend and an inspiration? An honour to serve? Then why the _hell_ did he leave when Corypheus could be on our doorstep?”

“What shall we do?”

“ _I_ am going to the Arbor Wilds. _You_ are going to Val Royeaux and figuring out what the hell he is doing there.”

Cullen took a step towards her.

“What? Why do _I_ have to go?”

Evelyn’s patience snapped.

“Because I do not have the _time_ to deal with both of them. We do not know when Corypheus will next attack, and I do not want to leave Skyhold any longer than is strictly necessary. Sera is the closest to him but she cannot go because of her leg, I need Cassandra with me, he barely likes Dorian, and I am not convinced Vivienne won’t kill him for abandoning us when we need him. And Cole can’t go because, you know, _most people cannot see him_.”

“And what makes you think he will listen to me?” Evelyn, who had started to walk down the steps, whirled around, and her braid nearly smacked Solas in the face from the force of it.

“I do not _care_ if he doesn’t listen to you: you can drag him back by his beard. But get him _back_.”

Evelyn stormed off down the steps, and the rest of the party followed quickly. Cassandra and Evelyn met the horses first, and Mahariel looked up to the Commander and then over at Solas.

“Does it ever get boring here?”

“Never.”

* * *

 

The forest was silent as they wandered through it, Mahariel at the front with her bow dangling from one hand. Solas walked alongside her, finding her eagerness to learn about elvhen history refreshing for a Dalish. Evelyn and Cassandra were just behind, with Bull holding up the back and chipping in on Evelyn and Cassandra's conversation once in a while. 

Evelyn marvelled at the surrounding ruins: they must have been walking through them for over a mile, the bright sunshine through the trees revealing every grey brick on the forest floor. It made her sad, to think that so much of the history was lost.

"Hey, boss. Do you think it's too quiet?"

Evelyn nodded at Bull's question, her eyes searching the forest around her. She was neither a hunter like Mahariel or a trained spy like Bull: there was likely  _something_ surrounding them that gave a clue as to why there were no forest animals, no deer or bears in an area she knew to be full of them.

"Perhaps it is because of the dragon? They can hunt bears and deer, sometimes."

Mahariel paled a little at Evelyn's words.

"Pray it is so."

"How much further?" Cassandra asked, uncertain if she should draw her sword or not. Mahariel shook her head.

"At least another two miles. Which is why-"

It was unnerving, the way that Mahariel suddenly stopped, her body rigid as if Solas had frozen her in place. Evelyn almost walked into her, and noticed the tanned elf's face had almost drained of all colour. Solas too had stopped, and Evelyn did not like the look of abject horror on  _both_ of their faces. She had never seen Solas look anything more than surprised, and that made her want to be ill.

"Why are we stopping?" Bull piped up from the back, but Evelyn held her hand up for him to be quiet. She followed Mahariel and Solas' gaze to the tree line behind one of the walls, and lowered her eyebrows in confusion. There was nothing there that she could see, other than the thick oak trees. In the shadows of the trees she could see a strange rocky formation, but she could not think of any reason why that would make them pause.

And then Evelyn realised that what looked to her to be flashes of sunlight were actually flesh, and her heart dropped into her stomach when she registered that it was looking  _right at them_. Mahariel swallowed hard.

"Nobody move."


	18. Varterral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liberties at the end, because where the HELL do these people sleep?? I'm assuming Leliana has a bedroom and doesn't just sleep in the rookery. If she sleeps at all.

“ _What_ _is that_?” Evelyn tried to speak without moving her lips, and felt pain in her chest from where she was desperately holding her breath in an attempt to move as little as possible. She could feel the moment Cassandra and Bull noticed the creature, for both of them immediately tensed in her periphery.

“ _That_ is a varterral, Inquisitor. _Fenedhis lasa_.” Mahariel began muttering a litany of elven curses under her breath, and Solas would have raised a brow if the varterral did not begin to shift at the tree line. Mahariel searched around them: the low walls of what would have been a temple was to their left, too low to hide behind, and the remaining tall columns would not offer protection. They could not flee into the trees, and they were hopeless out in the open.

“They are ancient elven guardians, Inquisitor. The disappearance of the bears and the deer? That is what they hunt. They do not attack elves, but they will try to kill any intruder who is not elvhen.”

Mahariel’s eyes flickered over to Solas at his words, her eyebrows furrowed.

“How many of these have you encountered? Each one I have come across has attacked me.” Her voice was a harsh whisper, and Evelyn felt increasingly unsettled as the creature shifted in the distance, its beady eyes looking across the clearing in their direction. Of course, Evelyn knew the answer to Mahariel’s question: she wondered if these creatures had never attacked Solas because they recognised him as one of the ancients.

Whether one of them moved an inch in the silence, or if it had detected the scent of a non-elf, Evelyn was not sure. All she knew was that at one moment the creature was looming at the tree line, a dark shadow, and the next it had moved.

It raced towards them with a grace she did not suspect something so tall and _leggy_ could possess, and the party scattered. Solas ran one way into the ruins at the left, Mahariel and Evelyn followed but turned right at the ruined entrance, and Cassandra and Bull bolted into the centre of the clearing, ready to defend.

“What do we do?” Evelyn shouted over the sound of it roaring, and the air became filled with the loud thuds of its feet hitting the floor. Mahariel and Evelyn ducked under the remains of an archway, avoiding one of the legs as it swung at them, and the roar was as earsplitting as that of a dragon.

“We cannot kill it!” The elf leaned around the wall and aimed an arrow at the fleshy part under the varterral’s leg: it hit the rocky armour instead, and bounced to the floor. Evelyn blanched.

“I thought you said you’d fought these before?”

“Fought one, ran from two. Never killed any.” Mahariel grabbed Evelyn’s wrist and pulled her behind a column; just in time, as the wall she had been hiding behind was shattered by another rocky leg pummeling into it. Evelyn noticed it had _arms_ and _hands_ , and immediately both women ran away from it again.

Solas was attempting to distract it, but his rift spells were barely bouncing off of it, and he too joined them in their run through the maze of walls and columns.

“We cannot kill it, Inquisitor. It is a waste to try.”

“Damn boss, this thing is fast!” The shout could be heard over the walls, and Evelyn looked behind to see Bull and Cassandra trying in vain to attack it as it loomed over the ruins, its hands reaching for Evelyn and Mahariel.

“Then what do we _do_? Solas, get away from here, if we spread out it might get confused.” Mahariel laughed at Evelyn before she ducked away from a grabbing hand, and the column Evelyn was leaning against toppled dangerously.

“Spreading out will just ensure we get killed faster.”

“The dragon! Can we summon the dragon? Will that kill it?” Evelyn’s voice was desperate, and she looked over at Mahariel with hope in her eyes. Mahariel shook her head as she darted out and rose her bow again.

“If you think you can _outrun that_ for two miles, _be my guest_. As it stands, I’m not taking the chance.”

Solas threw up a barrier around both women just as a rock-covered leg stamped down on them. The barrier shattered as the beast was repelled, and they backed away from the ruined walls back into the clearing. In the rush, Mahariel dropped her bow to the floor, letting out a string of incoherent curses.

There was a sickening thud as one leg smacked Iron Bull in the stomach and sent him flying, and the sight prompted Cassandra to back off from where she was trying to hit it. The varterral was all but dancing around in a circle, its legs kicking out at those it was attacking, and its hand grabbing for them in turn. It was faster than anything Evelyn had ever seen, and Cassandra and Bull’s attacks were merely bouncing off it like stones.

“Andraste’s Herald, and I get killed by a sentient rock. I survive Haven, Redcliffe, _masked balls_ and Adamant, and a temple full of ancient elves devoted to _Mythal_ , but I get killed by what amounts to an armoured spider!” Evelyn swore as her and Mahariel ducked between its legs and ran out the other side, avoiding its hands. The varterral spun around, reaching for them, but a rock fist from Solas sent it spinning back towards Cassandra.

“That’s it!” Mahariel grabbed Evelyn’s wrist and pulled her with her. “You drank from the well, did you not?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant!” Both women ducked again, but the sharp edge of one of the varterral’s legs caught the back of Evelyn’s armour, and she felt the leather split open.

“Listen to the well! Let it take over!” Evelyn tried to do as she asked, but it was difficult when they were running for their lives from an ancient creature faster than anything she had encountered before, which seemed to have no tactic other than fight and defend. She could hear it though, hear the hushed whispers of the voices in her mind.

Evelyn pulled open the door in her mind, and the voices rushed to the forefront of her thoughts. There were instructions, smatters of the elven language and images of similar varterrals in her mind. Mahariel must have noticed.

Without warning, Mahariel grabbed her wrist once more and spun Evelyn around to face the varterral, holding her in a viciously tight grasp. It moved to strike, one sharp foreleg aiming straight for her chest.

“ _Venavis_. _We are permitted to be here._ ” The words left her lips in the elven language, but the Well translated it in her mind for her, so loudly that she could not _hear_ the elvish as she spoke it. The varterral stopped mid-attack, as still as a deer caught in a net, and its attackers stopped along with it. There was blood running down Cassandra’s face from a cut above her eye, but Solas and Bull _appeared_ unharmed.

The varterral straightened, its arms falling limply to dangle in front of it, and without another sound it stalked off back towards the trees. The whole scene must have lasted less than ten seconds from Mahariel grabbing her to it disappearing into the shadows, but Evelyn watched it go with her mouth hung open nonetheless.

“What…just happened?” Cassandra piped up from where she stood, her sword still raised as if to strike. Evelyn shook her head, and Solas spoke.

“She used the knowledge from the Well to command it to stop.”

“Huh, makes you glad you didn’t let Morrigan take it, eh boss?”

Mahariel burst out laughing, and the sound of true hysteria echoed through the clearing. She sank to the grass, sitting with her legs splayed before her, and ran a hand over her face.

“By Mythal, that was worse than Amgarrak.”

Evelyn stepped closer to her, a hand held out to pull her off the floor if needed. Mahariel took it, still laughing from the adrenaline and the shock.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again.” Evelyn cautioned her, referring to Mahariel recklessly pushing her towards the varterral. Mahariel nodded.

“Apologies, Inquisitor. I had a feeling the knowledge of the well would protect itself.”

Evelyn looked back at the trees, feeling the hair on the back of her neck raise when she noticed that the varterral was still there, in view. It was watching, assessing.

“Will it attack again?” She directed the question at Solas, who shook his head.

“I do not think it will. The well has granted you access: so long as you do only what you came here to do, I think we shall be safe.”

“Right, well then. No dawdling, I suppose. Let us go fight the dragon.”

The Iron Bull whooped, and Cassandra groaned.

* * *

 

“You said you arrived in Orlais through an Eluvian in a hidden temple. Did you happen to see any Sentinels whilst in there?”

They were two days away from Skyhold, and the night was much darker than Evelyn was used to. They were camped in the forest, in a smaller clearing that allowed no light from the moon and the stars in through its leaves, and the only light was from the fire blazing in front of Evelyn and Mahariel. The elf was on watch, sitting on a tree stump whilst sharpening her arrows. Evelyn was sitting upright in the bedroll near her, unable to sleep, fearful that every crack in the darkness beyond the fire was a red templar, or Corypheus himself.

Mahariel lowered the arrow she was inspecting at Evelyn’s words, and raised an eyebrow. Evelyn found herself staring at her eyes, glinting in the dark, and she remembered that elven eyesight was apparently superior at night. Still, even in Ostwick, the Circle was rarely ever _dark_ and she knew that, if she had not been Tranquil, the first night of camp with Solas in the party would have had her pissing herself in fear at the sight of elven eyes glowing across the campsite.

“I find myself still feeling guilt over what happened at the Temple of Mythal. I assumed, if Mythal sent you here through an eluvian, they might have been there.” Evelyn explained, feeling the awful weight of sadness in her belly at the thought of the temple. Mahariel raised the arrow again, holding it close to her face to inspect the ridges.

“There were people there, yes, but I did not get a closer look. When I left the mirror the ruins were in darkness, most of it underground, but the doors leading out were opened the closer I got to them. I assume someone was doing that for me. When I left and looked behind, there were several on a walkway watching, but none spoke. It was unnerving, to turn around and see tall figures in dark cloaks, knowing that at least one of them had been with me in the darkness.”

Evelyn shifted, finding the description alone uncomfortable.

“So many potential ruins hiding the truth, and history has lost them all.” Evelyn shook her head sadly, but Mahariel only frowned.

“One day, that will be you and I. It is already happening to me.” There was no bitterness in her voice, perhaps even relief, and Evelyn cocked her head in curiosity.

“How so?”

“You recognised me on sight, yes? But most people do not, and when they do, it is all wrong. They say I raised an army and skillfully defeated the Blight on my own: I gathered a ragtag group and blackmailed and conscripted where need be, I used a golem to erase two paragons, I held a Keeper at knifepoint to call a truce, and I nearly slaughtered a Circle Tower at the behest of your Commander. The last I did not do because an elderly woman dressed me down. They say I escaped a clan full of blood mages and an abusive husband who I later killed so I could be free to live with my faithful Chantry girlfriend: I was dragged from it kicking and screaming, and I murdered my bondmate to free him from blight sickness, all the while feeling guilt for loving a human. They say I was a Dalish disillusioned from my clan, who never wanted to live in the forests, yet I never wanted to leave it. The first day I arrived at Weisshaupt, they were surprised I was an elf, for the rumours did not specify the truth.” The arrow in her fingers snapped at the stem, and Mahariel tossed it into the fire. She stood for a moment, her face becoming a mask over her emotions, and stepped closer to the fire to warm her hands. Evelyn watched her, waiting.

“Think of your predecessor, a man so noble in deed yet gone from the records. A human faithful to his Maker; and yet, I camped in the Tirashan with a clan adamant that he was an elf. What will they say of you, in years to come? Will they erase your magic, or will they brand you a power-hungry zealot who pretended to be Maker-sent? You lost the brand on your forehead – will they say you never had it to begin with? Or will they merge the tale of Corypheus with yourself, and suddenly the Inquisitor becomes the aggressor?” Mahariel turned to Evelyn, her eyes glinting like a cat’s in the firelight. “History is written by the victors, that is true, but it will be warped until you become what they want you to be.”

“I wonder, if two thousand years from now, our own existence will be lost forever. Will Skyhold become that Temple to Mythal, lost and forgotten? At least you need not fear any travelers being murdered upon entry, unless one of you secretly hope to defend for millennium in the fashion of your Sentinel elves?” Mahariel finished, a sharp laugh leaving her lips that made Evelyn uncomfortable. The elf’s words were true enough, and Evelyn felt the pang of dread in her stomach when she tried to envision the future of the Inquisition.

“I would say that I trust in my friends and companions, but I’m beginning to see lies around every corner.” Evelyn scowled as she spoke, her eyes flickering across the campsite to rest on a sleeping, oblivious Solas, but Mahariel did not notice. Inclining her head, she moved from the fireplace to sit at the foot of Evelyn’s bedroll.

“You speak of the Warden Blackwall?”

Evelyn’s teeth clenched in anger and betrayal, and she shook her head. She had received the raven from one of Leliana’s outposts early that morning: the truth of Blackwall, and Cullen’s request on what to do. She imagined Blackwall was probably out of prison by now, and well on his way to Skyhold in chains.

“Not a Warden. Not Blackwall.”

Mahariel winced, and whistled lowly.

“Ah, so that is the way of it.”

“Why did you not realise he was not a Grey Warden? Or Alistair? I thought Grey Wardens could tell when they were in the company of other Wardens.” The look on Evelyn’s face was as bitter as Mahariel’s had been, but there was rage beneath the surface that she suspected had been the only reason she was able to start the campfire that evening. Mahariel pursed her lips in thought.

“Normally, we _can_. We sense the taint in one another. I have not been around another Warden for nearly two years; it merely slipped my mind, having been so long since I could last tell. As for Alistair, you said the Wardens were affected by a false Calling: he might simply have been too distracted to notice.” She paused, uncertain if she should continue. “What will you do with him?”

Evelyn scowled.

“First, I am going to see if Cole knew about _this_ case of false identity. If he did, I am going to box his ears. Then, I will probably strangle Blackwall, no, _Rainier_ , with his own bloody beard. Running off the way he did, _stupid_ man.”

* * *

 

“There is something you should know.”

Mahariel was leaning against the large windowsill in Leliana’s room, directly below the Inquisitor’s floor. The level that Leliana’s room was on was split into two bedrooms coming off the corridor from the staircase. The left was Josephine’s, and the right was Leliana’s. Mahariel had noticed from a glimpse that the ambassador’s quarters were far more richly decorated than Leliana’s, but the latter had fewer things in there to start with. She got the uncomfortable impression that if she were to look under the bed, there would be a knapsack at the ready to flee with.

A pretty Dalish tapestry was hung from the wall, however, and there was an impressive shoe collection on a stand next to the wardrobe.

“Oh? You have been back not even an hour, and I get the feeling I should be nervous.” Leliana curled her legs beneath her on the bed, the fabric of her nightclothes rustling against the sheets. It was the dead of night, and Skyhold was entombed in utter silence: the only sound in the last ten minutes had been the soft tread of Evelyn’s feet on the stairs as she left the tower to spend the rest of the night with Cullen. It was quiet enough that Leliana could hear her close both doors, as well as the lower rotunda door off in the distance, on her way out.

Mahariel turned from the window to look at her, her eyes downcast, as though she were readying herself for a fight.

“I have decided that I will not continue to look for a cure to the Calling. At least, not until something _solid_ comes up.”

It felt like a physical blow, to hear those words come from Mahariel’s lips. Leliana was sure her feelings were written on her face despite her instinctive attempt to stop it, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“But why? If you are cured of the Calling, we would be able to spend the rest of our lives together, as promised.”

Mahariel shook her head.

“Look at us, Leliana. You left my side in nine thirty-six, so that I could find a cure. It’s been six years, and we’ve seen each other _less_ than six times. If I am to search for a cure, I am wasting precious time I could spend with you.”

“My love, you will _die_ -“

Mahariel cut her off with a soft shushing sound, and quickly moved to the bed to clasp Leliana’s hands in her own.

“I have eighteen years left, Leliana. At most. We will never forgive ourselves if I waste them trying to chase a cure that isn’t out there. I had thirty years, we have wasted twelve already. It’s not worth it, ma vhenan, to be separated from you for so long. _Six years_ , and I’m no closer than I was at the start.” She squeezed Leliana’s hands, hoping her words would take root. She could see Leliana warring within herself, wishing to keep her there but also wanting to make sure that she would _stay_ there for the rest of their lives.

She looked so much smaller in these private moments, out of her armour. Mahariel marvelled at how the Inquisition spymaster who had walked into the rotunda looked so much _bigger_ , more intimidating in her armour. She had half a mind to check Leliana’s steel-capped boots to make sure they weren’t hiding a heel to make her taller.

“But eighteen years, when twelve has already passed so quickly.” Leliana looked up at her, and Mahariel could see she was trying to hold back the dam of emotions that she had so tidily smashed.

“Don’t think of it like that, vhenan. In eighteen years I will be _sixty_. A decent age, for an elf. I’ll be so old, you won’t want to be stuck looking after me.” The smile that drew out of Leliana relaxed the tension in Mahariel’s shoulders, and she leaned forward to tuck the infuriating braid of Leliana’s behind her ear. Leliana responded by laying down to rest her head on Mahariel’s legs, one hand resting on her knee to trace circles.

“I am glad you will be staying with me. But, I don’t want to lose you, either.” She let out a soft sigh as Mahariel started to run her fingers through her hair, and her hand tightened on Mahariel’s knee.

“I know, vhenan, but we could die at any moment. I don’t want to waste time. I’ve missed so much already.” She smiled down at Leliana, whose eyes had slipped shut, and wondered if her lover ever allowed anyone to see the soft side of her anymore.

“There is one other thing.” Her voice must have held something in it, some warning that the conversation was about to turn even more serious, for Leliana pushed herself back into a sitting position and cocked her head at Mahariel. “I heard the whispers in Orlais, vhenan. There is every possibility that you will become the new Divine.”

“I know. But I think it will be a good thing. The Chantry should be a place of comfort and support for all, and I know I could turn it into everything it _should_ have been.” There was a raw hope on her face that made Mahariel cup her cheek fondly, running her thumb over Leliana’s cheekbone. Her smile turned sad, however.

“And I know you could do it, vhenan, but the Divine is not allowed to take a lover. If we continue, am I to be a shadow behind the Sunburst Throne, sneaking into the Grand Cathedral through hidden passageways?”

Leliana shook her head furiously.

“No! I would never do that to you, my love.”

“It’s not that you wouldn’t do it, Leliana, it’s that you’re not _allowed_ to have me there.”

“And why not? Andraste took a lover, and her Herald now is also allowed to take one. Why should it be different for me?” She looked offended enough that Mahariel leaned in to kiss her gently.

“It’s not that easy, vhenan. It’s no secret that the Hero of Ferelden is not Andrastian.” Mahariel let go of Leliana, and there was a look of deep contemplation on her face, a steeliness in her eyes that Leliana knew to associate with moments of extreme stubbornness. “I don’t _see_ any way around this, if you become Divine. The clerics will not allow it.”

“And I will not allow you to keep thinking like this. It does not have to be how you are envisioning it.”

“Can you be certain of that?”

Leliana managed to look offended, of all things.

“Yes, I can!”

Mahariel sighed, running a hand through her own hair to distract herself. She clutched at a clump of it in frustration.

“Sweet Mythal, I feel like the only way this would be easy is if you were secretly wed _before_ you were elected.” The words left her lips before she could control them, and Leliana recoiled in surprise.

Silence descended on them, and Mahariel froze, stiller than a rabbit trying to hide from a predator’s gaze. Leliana cocked her head in wonder, plotting the possibilities as Mahariel panicked, one hand still clawed in her hair.

“That’s… not the worst idea you’ve had.”

“It absolutely is!” Mahariel almost jolted out of her panicked state, and shook her head earnestly. “How will that look, the Hero of Ferelden convincing the Divine to subvert the Chantry?

'It was a bad idea, a spontaneous-“

“That answer was not the obvious solution: you’ve clearly been thinking about it.” Her accent became heavier in the stress of the situation, at seeing Mahariel pulling away in fear at the scenarios her mind had conjured up.

“That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. I've been married before: your chantry won't like that, even if he is dead. Wanting this does not mean we can _have_ it.” Mahariel rose to her feet quickly, wringing her hands before her nervously. She stood there for a moment, her mouth open as if to speak, before her teeth clicked as her jaw snapped shut. The elf turned on her heel and left the room, whistling for the Mabari as she did so.

Leliana sat there on the bed, indignation clearly visible on her face as she struggled to believe Mahariel had just walked off.

She rolled her eyes, _furious_ , and followed.

* * *

 Evelyn leaned back into the throne, an unhappy scowl on her face as Cullen stood beside her in lieu of one of her usual guards. Leliana stood beside him, whilst Josephine stood a step below the pedestal, her board in hand as usual.

“I do not understand why _this_ has to be a public judgement.” She clenched her fist tightly, feeling an uncommon ache running from her palm up to her elbow. It had been acting up all morning, as though it were tugging in an unseen direction and trying to detach from her hand. Cullen shifted uncomfortably, and Leliana spoke up.

“Because if you forgive Rainier in a private judgement, the world never will. If you do it publicly, the world will follow your example. His freedom is as dependent on the nobility as it is on you.”

Evelyn sighed, unconsciously dragging her fingernails across her palm as she nodded over at Josephine to bring Blackwall into the throne room.

“The biggest vulnerability in my inner circle and the world gets to see it.” She scanned the chamber, and narrowed her eyebrows. “Where is the Warden Commander? She is barely two feet from you when in Skyhold.”

Leliana smirked.

“Sulking in the chantry. Is the mark acting up?” Her smile was sweet, a warning, and Evelyn chose to play along.

“Something dreadful. It has kept us awake all night.” Her voice was close to a whisper, and Cullen nodded in agreement with her.

“It was the light, more than anything. It was lit up like those fireworks after the peace talks.”

Evelyn looked up at him and frowned.

“This, from the man who sleeps with a hole in his roof. How _do_ you survive a full moon?”

“By spending the night in your chambers, not mine.” His smirk made her grin, but any reply was cut off when Blackwall was brought into the hall. Every noble in the room fell silent as he entered, and Evelyn shot a number of glares at a few Orlesians who were complaining _loudly_ about his stay of execution.

As he reached the step before her the anchor lit up with an ear-splitting crack, and the ground beneath them shook so violently even Cullen nearly toppled over. The audience chamber was flooded with familiar eerie green light, but Evelyn quickly realised with horror that the light was coming in through the windows behind her and the front door. Above her, Vivienne rushed to her balcony, and through the chandeliers she could see the swirling mass of clouds. She knew that if she were stood with Vivienne, she would see the breach reopened.

She looked down at Blackwall, the anchor still causing her hand to shake, and frowned.

“Can you fight?”

“Gladly.”

“Then you’re free to atone. Now get everyone ready.”

She turned to her advisors, seeing Josephine’s stricken face, the look of confusion on Leliana’s, and the fear on Cullen’s. Shaking her head, she turned to one of the guards.

“Get the nobles in their rooms and ensure they stay there. You three, with me. War room, _now_.”


	19. Chapter 19

Skyhold was both a flurry of activity, and as quiet and empty as the day they found it.

Every non-soldier or scout had been sent to their rooms, and many had gone down to the dungeons as well, to keep safe behind the strong walls of the fortress. Servants were rushing around to make certain everything was secure in the Keep, and the sound of hushed activity could be heard through the walls. Outside, the courtyard was empty, though Evelyn had no doubt that if they had even a quarter of their soldiers were in the keep then it would have been bustling with soldiers ready to march.

As it stood, eight of her nine companions were gathering near the gate with their mounts: Sera was still unable to walk without her leg giving way, and Evelyn knew taking the blonde would be a death sentence for the elf. It pained her to see Blackwall being so obviously ignored by the group, but she would correct that on the road to the temple.

The meeting in the War Room had not done much, other than to ascertain that the Breach had been reopened where the remnants of Haven and the Temple appeared to be, and it had devolved into them squabbling over what to do next. Cullen was in favour of sending for some of the soldiers to return more quickly than the others or to direct them en-route, Josephine was in favour of waiting for their allies to send aid, and Leliana was in favour of sending the inner circle out with some of her remaining scouts and keeping the small force of soldiers to protect Skyhold if necessary.

Evelyn had agreed with Leliana, and the fighting had started.

Now, she was racing down the steps of her tower, fully armoured with her staff slung over her back, shoving as many health poultices and lyrium potions into her pack as she feasibly could. The seams were stretching and the glass bottles scraped against each other, but she kept pressing them in until it would take no more. She wrenched the door to the main hall open and nearly barrelled into Mahariel.

The Warden-Commander had changed into the sturdiest set of Griffon leathers that Evelyn had ever seen, and the armour looked little-used besides a dent on the left shoulder. Evelyn would not be surprised if it was the original armour she was given upon her appointment as Warden-Commander. Mahariel grinned at Evelyn.

“I heard you’re an archer down. Need some help? Though I hope you don’t mind if I stay far from the big guy. I prefer to remain at the back, and you’ve no giant ballistas to keep my confidence up. I'm afraid I'm rather bad at fighting dragons without them.” Evelyn could not make sense of the statement, but nodded her head anyway.

“That is _not_ a problem. Go, by the gate. Dennet will get you a horse.”

Mahariel nodded and jogged across the hall, exiting via the big doors: it was quiet enough that Evelyn could hear her descend the stone steps. She glanced around Skyhold, trying to map it out in its silence and emptiness. The balcony doors were locked shut, the chandeliers extinguished, and the braziers on either side of the throne stood cold. It was eerie, so unlike the atmosphere she had become accustomed to.

Cullen met her at the doors, and Evelyn stepped into his embrace without hesitation upon seeing the fear on his face.

“Will you not wait for the soldiers to return?”

Evelyn pushed her face into the fur of his mantle as her hands went under the cloak to press against the back of his breastplate.

“You and I both know that is not a viable option, Cullen. We risk too many demons going into the Valley.”

“I know. I just… Maker, I _must_ send you to him.” She felt him release his sigh into her hair, and she pulled her head back to look at him carefully. He looked almost _worn_ , and his eyes were closed as though he could block out the truth if he did not look at it. Evelyn held his face with her hand, and leaned up to kiss him gently. It was slow, far too reminiscent of a final kiss to be entirely comfortable for Evelyn, but there was a desperation in it that had her heart dropping into her stomach in fear.

“Are you going to be alright?” Cullen’s voice was low, and his eyes narrowed when Evelyn shook her head.

“I- I don’t know. I have not been able to cast a decent fire spell since the Temple of Mythal. My healing has improved, but I have no true way to defend myself if I lose my staff. If… If he goes for me, if I fall…”

“Maker _no._ Evelyn, you _will_ come back.”

She knew, from the tone of his voice alone, that she could not pretend to believe otherwise. He needed it of her, needed to hear her own confidence in her success before he could begin to share it.

“I’ll come back, Cullen. So far, we’ve been lucky against Corypheus.” His hands around her waist tightened.

He paused, for a moment, before he breathed in deeply, and Evelyn _knew_ what he was going to do. “Before you go, you _must_ know-“

“No.” She pulled away and held his hand in both of her own, holding it close to her chest as she shook her head. “Don’t tell me now. Tell me when I return.” Her smile was watery, and Cullen could see the tears in her eyes, but her fingers wrapping around his own was enough to silence him into submission.

“But you know.”

“I know.” Evelyn was suddenly eager to get away, to let go of him before she no longer had the strength to do so, knowing she was leaving him at Skyhold without any certainty that she would return. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “I shall see you soon.” With a sad smile she let go, and he was forced to watch her descend to the courtyard and leave with the others.

* * *

 

Things had ended up going from quite bad, to extremely, utterly, terrifyingly bad, in the space of an hour.

What had started with what looked to be an on-ground assault with all of her companions had quickly turned into Evelyn, Cassandra, The Iron Bull, and Dorian, being launched into the air with the rest of the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes, with her remaining companions far, far below them. If Evelyn looked over, she could barely see the specks of her people fighting the onslaught of demons.

The fighting was not going well up in the sky, either: half of Dorian’s abilities were wasted due to the general lack of bodies, whilst Evelyn was no longer good at casting any form of destructive spell. She was forced to remain at the back of the field, casting barriers and rejuvenation spells she could barely remember from her apprentice days, and all through the battle she could feel the pull of demons lurking on the other side of the veil. As the battle dragged on Cassandra and Bull were lagging, missing open shots and revealing their weaknesses too often to Corypheus and the demons.

It had taken half a second of Bull’s blind side being exposed for Corypheus to deal a solid hit that sent the Qunari flying across the platform, and Evelyn had been terrified for a moment that he would slide off the edge. He had been unconscious for nearly a minute, and Evelyn knew from the force of the blow that if he did not wake up soon she was going to be dealing with a very serious head injury, and fighting Corypheus without Bull was tantamount to suicide.

And then the dragon, that gorgeous green creature, fell from the sky onto the level below them, and Evelyn nearly fell over from the force of the collision. It rolled once, screaming, its wings twisting awfully, before it rolled off the side of the platform and crashed towards the earth.

Corypheus chose that moment to leave them once again, and Evelyn dropped her staff and rushed over to Bull, counting in her head as she lifted the Qunari’s and pressed her hand to the back of his skull. It came away covered in blood, and she scrambled to down one of the lyrium potions in her pack. Small healing spells knitted Bull’s skin together as she waited for the potion to kick in, and Dorian joined her in her efforts, placing his hand on Bull’s forehead before he started casting.

“The dragon… it’s dead!” Cassandra was shouting from her place at the edge of the floor, one hand holding onto a pillar to keep her balance as she looked over the edge. Evelyn gritted her teeth.

“Yes, I can see that!”

“Come _on,_ you ridiculous beast of burden! If you weren’t _literally_ the size of a horse you’d be awake by now!” Dorian was panicking, his spells ripping through the veil rather than being pulled, and Evelyn pushed as much of her energy as she could into a healing spell. Bull woke as Dorian started to swear and she herself began to feel herself slipping into anger, and his eyes were surprisingly full of clarity as he looked at the two humans above him.

“Ah, shit.”

“Come on, up you get big guy.” Evelyn made him sit up, careful to watch him to see if he seemed disorientated or uncertain, but he only flinched from pain at the wound on his side. The platform shook again, and behind them a ruined pillar smashed into the ground.

“Inquisitor…” Evelyn marvelled at how Cassandra’s voice could project so well even if she was not shouting; she knew exactly why Cassandra sounded hesitant even from her spot ten feet away. She gave Bull a wary grin.

“Look, we even got you a dragon as well.”

* * *

 

Evelyn was sincerely beginning to wish that she had insisted on chaining Solas to her wrist before they had entered the site of the ruined Temple. Bull had been further injured by the red-lyrium dragon, severely enough that she insisted on depositing him at the base of the stairs and ordered him not to move.

He had been vocal in his disagreements, but when Evelyn had ordered him to walk in a straight line and he found he could not, he acquiesced. Reluctantly.

And now every swing of her staff was burning her arms, and her back was throbbing with each twist of her body as she pulled whatever magic she could through the veil to deal damage. Her fires were non-existent, and the only spells doing any _real_ damage were the effects of her barriers exploding. Corypheus was dealing enough hard blows to Cassandra that they were exploding _frequently._

They had found a hidden cache of potions on the steps up, but they were well out of date and were only half as effective as they should have been. And so the three of them were fighting and faltering, each movement a searing pain in the lungs, as Corypheus battered them down.

Whether he was inexplicably faltering as well, or he felt he needed further aid in the battle, Corypheus raised the elven orb into the air and beseeched his Old God for help. The pause allowed Cassandra to pin him in place with her sword, and in the light coming from his body Evelyn noticed the dark-haired woman had blood dripping down her face from her hairline.

She felt a tug in her body, felt her arm raise towards the orb almost of its own accord. The anchor flared, green and bright and overpowering, fighting the red glow coming off of Corypheus in corrupted waves. It was a surreal feeling: in every rift she closed it had felt as though she was pulling on an invisible chord, but this was something else entirely. Her hand curled around nothing, but it felt as though she was holding the orb in her own hand.

With the slightest pull of her wrist the orb flew to her hand, and she felt the surge of power running up her arm as it connected to the anchor. It floated there, centimetres from her palm, and Evelyn could feel that the power contained within the orb was stronger than anything she had ever come across before. It was old and powerful, and the moment it left Corypheus’ grasp he fell to his knees, weak.

Evelyn felt anger course through her, an insurmountable fury at this _creature_ collapsing pitifully at her feet. She aimed the orb upwards, and immediately it sent a beam of power up into the centre of the Breach. Pain lanced through her body, her arm burning and aching with the pressure that built up within the anchor. She felt as if she were losing the arm, but as the pain reached its peak the magic vanished, and the clouds around the breach swirled and began to recede. The orb fell to the floor, grey and almost _empty_ after that display.

Evelyn said nothing, feeling almost _devoid_ of anything but her fury at Corypheus, and she knew the darkspawn knew exactly what she was going to do to him without the need for her to say it.

The fade rift ripped him apart and dragged him in in what could barely be ten seconds; ten seconds of an agonised scream to replace nearly three hours of gruelling fighting and countless injuries.

Ten seconds, to finish over a year of turmoil and senseless deaths, of lives being destroyed and land scorched beyond repair.

 _Ten seconds_ , and it was almost as though he had never walked the earth.

That almost made her angrier: she had expected him to go out fighting tooth and nail, clutching at them with every ounce of strength he had left and spitting their names in a senseless rage. Instead, he had fallen to his knees and watched as she healed the sky and ripped him apart.

Before she could rile herself up any further, the platform began shaking again, as though there were a violent earthquake, and panic set in.

“Fasta vass!”

“Shit, Bull!”

They ran to the stairs as fast as their aching, limping bodies allowed them to, and Evelyn felt nausea wash over her as the platform began to fall to the earth. It was falling slowly, but fast enough that they felt unsteady on their feet as it tilted, and she was reminded of that fall into the fade so long ago.

Bull had already risen to his feet when they reached the bottom of the steps, and he directed them to the centre of the platform, away from the danger of anything toppling down onto them.

“Boss, on the floor!”

Evelyn, Cassandra and Dorian followed Bull’s instruction, and for the first time since Evelyn had returned from her tranquil state, she prayed.

* * *

 

In the end, their victory had hardly been _sparkling_.

They had limped into Skyhold with Bull in a cart, Mahariel on a stretcher between Blackwall and Cassandra, and Vivienne walking tall and proud whilst cradling a shattered arm to her chest. She and Mahariel had been caught by the same piece of falling rubble: it had snapped Mahariel’s femur and crushed Vivienne’s arm to the floor when the latter was healing a wound in the former’s side and had tried to move her.

Evelyn had tried to heal the wound on Mahariel, but had lacked sufficient mana. They would both have to see the healer in the infirmary. She was bitter about that: Solas would have been able to heal them easily, if he had not disappeared.

They had accepted the applause from Skyhold’s residents with as much grace as their tired forms could muster, but Evelyn had still all but collapsed into Cullen’s arms on the stone steps. Evelyn imagined it was a rather abrupt end to the cheerful mood when a majority of the inner circle was immediately escorted into the infirmary.

Evelyn had spent the week recuperating in her room, waiting for a day when she would wake up and not feel so utterly _drained_. Everything ached from the hours of fighting, to the point where it had taken her two days to begin to stand upright again. Her left arm was bruised up to the elbow, though they had faded to yellow and light blotches by the morning of the celebration party.

“Has everyone recovered?” The question was directed at the elven woman who was trying to twist her hair up into the Orlesian twist she had worn at the Winter Palace, in an attempt to make her look as though she didn't feel like she was knocking on Death's door. The woman gave a grimace.

“Yes, my lady. The qunari has returned to the tavern, and the Dalish hunter was allowed to leave the infirmary yesterday. Although I suspect that was due to her complaining, rather than the advice of the healer.”

“Can she walk?”

“Aye, miss. And so can Lady Sera.”

Evelyn almost snorted, hearing her refer to Sera as a ‘lady’. The elf would be outraged if she heard it. “And Madame de Fer?”

“She was healing folk in her parlour this morning, so I assume she is well also.”

“Her _parlour_?”

The elf grinned at her, and looked slightly abashed.

“The balcony, miss. We, the servants, call it her parlour. As a joke.” The woman picked up a vicious looking pin from the table and jammed it into her hair, and Evelyn winced. Another one followed, and Evelyn kept quiet to allow the woman to concentrate.

* * *

 

"I received an interesting request for Cullen's lineage this morning." Of all the things Evelyn had expected Leliana to greet her with when she entered the hall, that had not been it.

"That is...nice? I'm not sure why you're telling me, I am hardly going to jump for joy at the Orlesians trying to snatch him away from me." Her smile was awkward, but the one Leliana gave in return was her trademark all-knowing one, and it made her worry a little.

"I thought it was interesting because the request came from a Bann Edward Trevelyan of Ostwick."

Evelyn's mouth fell open, and she looked at Leliana for signs of deceit. There were none.

"He's trying to marry my Commander to my sister? Has he not heard the rumours?"

Leliana rolled her eyes, the knowing smile faltering.

"Oh for the love of- don't be obtuse. The request was for you."

Evelyn's eyes widened as Leliana's smile turned into a grin, and she shook her head.

"Tell me you haven't let him see it. It's too early to be scaring him off with that."

"On the contrary, my lady, I left it on his desk."

"You left it _where?_ "

Leliana shushed her, aware that eyes were beginning to turn to them at the doorway. Her eye roll this time was more affectionate, but her grin was positively _wicked_. Evelyn stared at her, waiting for an answer.

"Oh hush, it won't change anything. If it tempts you both into looking at what happens now that Corypheus is gone, then I will consider my actions a good thing."

Leliana’s smirk was full of games, and Evelyn could only shake her head in exasperation before her spymaster sauntered off to stand near Cassandra. Evelyn scanned the hall, grateful and far too relieved that all of her companions had recovered enough to be present. Bull was guzzling down alcohol as though it weren’t the very thing the healer had told him not to do, and the atmosphere was comfortable even with the presence of nearly a hundred nobles packed into the hall.

Only the table near the door was not packed with people, and that was more due to the dim lighting and the wide open doors creating a cold chill in the corner.

Sitting at it was Mahariel, wearing the well made armour that reflected her station as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. The nobles in the hall did not recognise the significance of the armour, however, and to them she was just another Grey Warden, perhaps one of those saved at Adamant. She was conversing with Dagna, the younger dwarf chatting away excitedly about everything she had managed to accomplish due to Mahariel's aid. Evelyn watched as the elf paid rapt attention, looking at Dagna with something akin to pride on her face. Eventually Sera approached to spend time with her Widdle, and Dagna turned her almost adoring gaze to her, and excused herself from Mahariel's presence with a loud and toothy-filled thank you. Mahariel returned to writing on thick parchment, and Evelyn approached after a few moments of observation.

"Writing your memoir already?"

She grinned at Mahariel as she stood behind her chair, and Mahariel turned her attention from the paper to Evelyn. Looking at it, she could see it was half in elvish and half in the common tongue.

"Of course: I cannot let history forget that I was involved in two major battles." She grinned, then shook her head: there was a tinge of sadness to the expression. “I am writing a letter to a woman I've not seen in a decade. We were close friends, members of the same clan, and I called her sister once. Varric has agreed to deliver it to her when he returns to Kirkwall."

"And you've not seen her in ten years? I worry that I will be thinking similar things in ten years. If they'll all leave me." Evelyn leaned against the table, and looked down at Mahariel as she spoke. The elf leaned back against her chair with a contemplative look on her face, and spun the quill in her hand on the table.

"They'll do that, you know. But they will remain in your thoughts and your life all the same."

"Will they, though?"

Mahariel nodded, a distant, nostalgic look on her face.

"They will. Aside from Leliana, Morrigan, and Alistair, I have not seen any of my companions in a decade. I found out that a dear friend died when a red staff was left in a dead drop; another became the Arishok of the people you pissed off, and some have disappeared altogether. It is difficult to remember those without feeling the pain, but the rest still live, and although we scattered to the four corners of the world I know that if I called, they would come. One even named his child after me. They are still your friends, and they will still love you; distance won't change that. They'll come back, when you call."

"Will it get easier?" Mahariel knew she was referring to the sudden disappearance of Solas, and knew the pain of a friend leaving without a goodbye.

"It will. Morrigan left us the moment I killed the archdemon on top of Fort Drakon, and it is horrible to have someone leave so soon after victory is achieved. But it will get better. And there will be times when everyone's loss will hit you sharply: I can never set up camp in a large clearing, else I miss the sounds of my companions. I cannot enter a tavern without hearing Oghren reaching for an ale and Anders bickering with Nathaniel over something inconsequential. It will hurt, and you will miss them greatly, but they will remain yours nevertheless." Mahariel smiled up at Evelyn then, a sad smile on her face, and the hand that was holding the quill lowered to rest on the head of the mabari at her feet. Evelyn cocked her head at him.

"Is that why you wouldn't take him with us to the Altar?"

Mahariel grinned.

"He's all I have left of those days, and he is old. He may have a good few years left in him, but he would throw himself in front of the dragon to save me, and I would not take that chance." She smiled down at the dog, gently stroking his forehead, before looking up at Evelyn.

"He's the father of several litters in Ferelden at the moment, it is how I've managed to get coin over the years. I could send one to you, if you'd like."

Evelyn laughed then, a loud one that drew the attention of several nobles around them. She shook her head.

"No thank you, though the offer is kind. I don't think I'm worthy enough for a mabari, as loyal as they are." And she had not missed the wary looks that Mahariel's mabari often sent her way. The elf shook her head fondly.

"No? Not even for your Templar beau? Fair enough, but if you change your mind, let me know." Mahariel leaned back in her chair, and gestured over to Cullen. "Do you know, when I heard that the Commander of the Inquisition was in a relationship with the mage Herald of Andraste, I couldn't believe it. I thought the tower had changed that boy forever."

Evelyn glanced over at Cullen, a small smile on her face. The man looked up and noticed both women looking at him, and instantly his face coloured even as he felt his curiosity raising under their gaze. Evelyn turned away, and her smile was adoring enough that Mahariel had to laugh.

“It did, Warden. It marked him, but it did not make him.” She paused, contemplating. “He still has _some_ problematic views, but they are changing as time goes on, and I find it better to judge him not for what he has done, but for the progress he has made since then.”

“Wise words, Inquisitor. And I do agree with you. By Mythal, when did everyone _grow up_?” Her smile was warm, and Evelyn almost felt lighter. Mahariel raised the glass of wine on the table in her direction, before taking a gulp.

“Where will you go now?”

Mahariel frowned.

“I was planning to visit my clan. Varric says they are still camped at Sundermount, and there is a young girl there who has not seen her mother in far too long. It is my hope that my friend will also agree to see me, and so if that is the case I’ll be nearby. I’ll travel with Varric there, but once my business is concluded I will return to Leliana’s side, be that here or Val Royeaux, if you don’t mind.”

Evelyn crossed her arms over her chest, curious.

“If I say no, will I wake up to my Spymaster holding a blade to my throat?”

“I _would_ say no, but I cannot be certain what my vhenan does when I am not here.” They both grinned in tandem, and Evelyn nodded.

“For whatever it is worth, Warden-Commander, it is an honour to have met you. I hope we meet again, someday.”

“The honour is entirely mine, _Inquisitor_.”

* * *

 

Eventually, the party laboured on long enough that Evelyn felt it was safe to leave without giving offence. Leliana had already slinked off with the Hero of Ferelden, and Varric had left to pack, but apart from those everyone was still _loud_ and _active_. Bull was desperately trying to drag Cole to a keg, and Evelyn was half-tempted to stay to see if he would succeed, but her back and knees were aching something dreadful.

Cullen caught her at the door to her tower, and Evelyn was almost surprised at his boldness. She would not have been able to drag him to the door in the dead of the night if she tried, yet here he was walking up to her without hesitation with a full hall behind him. She turned to him, one hand on the door, and raised her eyebrow in curiosity.

“Trying to sneak up to the Inquisitor’s quarters? What a scandal.”

His laugh was confident, relieved, and nothing at all like the hesitant chuckles she was used to. Corypheus’ death really was a weight off his shoulders.

“I thought I might steal more of your time.”

She took his hand in her own and led him through the doorway, hearing more than a few excited sounds of surprise from the hall as she shut the heavy door. Leading him up the stairs was more of a chore than anything, and they both knew that there would be no bedroom activities of any kind for the rest of the evening. Cullen had seen the state of the back of her torso and legs, and would not push until the bruising receded.

Nevertheless, he removed the majority of his armour and placed it at the foot of her bed as Evelyn removed the heavy silver armour Leliana had insisted, with great regret, that she wear.

“What happens now?” Cullen asked the question as she approached him, and she momentarily toyed with the lacing on his tunic before she answered.

“Does anything have to happen? We are free of Corypheus; I think we are allowed at least a few days with no plans.”

He laughed, but his hands came up to still her own on his chest.

“True enough, but I wasn’t talking about that. I didn’t think much about the future when this, _we_ , started, but now that we’re here… I don’t want uncertainty, or to move on. But I don’t know if _you_ want that.” He sighed, one hand moving to pull at his hair in anxiety. Evelyn beamed, and ran her thumb gently over his bottom lip before leaning up to kiss him. If he seemed startled at first, he soon responded quickly and with enthusiasm, and she felt him pulling her closer, his grip tightening but loose enough not to hurt her bruises.

She loved him without the armour, being able to feel him solidly against her without the cool chill of the steel breastplate, to be able to smell _him_ without the scent of old fur and the stuffy smell of his office. When she let go of him she could still see the uncertainty behind his eyes, his unwillingness to let anyone in being beaten down by his certainty that no one would _want_ to let him in.

“If I wanted to move on without you, do you think I would bring you up to my quarters in full view of half the nobility of Ferelden and Orlais?” The smirk that sentence brought calmed them both, and Cullen shook his head.

“Perhaps now they’ll stop badgering me for my lineage.”

“Oh no, dear Commander, it will only make them more desperate. Nothing is more attractive to them than something they cannot have.” She pulled him over to the small settee, and felt huge relief in her bones the moment she was no longer supporting her weight on her legs. She leaned against him, her legs brought up onto the settee to relieve her pain.

“So, what shall it be? Am I to lose you to an Orlesian heiress? Or to the Ferelden warrior Teyrna?”

His groan was half a laugh, and half mortification.

“No, thank you. I’m quite happy with you, even if you are a Marcher.”

“I’ll have you thrown off my tower for that.” Evelyn leaned over to take his hand, and threaded her fingers through his own. “I love you, you know. I know you wanted to tell me before I left, but I didn’t want to feel like it was a spur of the moment in the face of danger sort of thing.”

He looked at her then as though she had made his whole world with those words, and Evelyn began to feel like it was over, _really_ over. It unsettled her to think that a year ago none of it would have been possible, she would not have _cared_ at all because of her tranquility. What would she be doing now, if she had never met that spirit in the fade?

Cullen gently squeezed her hand, pulling her thoughts back to the present. The hesitation in his face was not uneasiness at her feelings, but a still-present sense of disbelief that it was over and she was still there, still _his_.

“I love you too, Evelyn.”

 


End file.
